Requiem for Ether
by Aldedron
Summary: In a tiny village no one bothers with reigns a cruel Noble lord. He's killed the Hunters they hired, and now he's out for blood. Can D save the people from Son-Gyoukumo's wrath in time, or is he too late...? Rated for being the epitome of violence
1. 尊凝雲降水

**A/N**  
There aren't many fics in this fandom, it appears. Well, not many recently updated. Might as well augment my own story ^^ This fandom deserves more recognition  
I'm new to the community, so please be kind~!

Book-verse  
Also, I read lots of classics (current project: _Dracula_), so expect that style, as well as lots of Japanese names

* * *

**Requiem for Ether  
**_A paradise in the clouds—Hell in the Heavens_

With a flourish of motion, black cloak swirling in a fluid arc, a flurry of fluttering, twisting fabric, the dark shape soared through the skies. Below the form raced a group of four men on horseback, the metal plating adorning the cyborg beasts glimmering strangely in the dim light. The cloaked figure was distinguishable only by how the shadows adorning the clouds overhead seemed to shift amidst its presence.

One man pulled out a blaster, aiming the weapon at the being. He traced the shifting blackness with the barrel, savoring the thought of the blood spatter whilst it rained down from the skies. Savoring the perfect shot which would make the thing fall, fall from above unto the unforgiving Earth below, and how it would still live, although just barely, and remain consciousness enough to endure the man's wildest dreaming of torture and merciless sadism. Savoring the idea of killing it slowly. Painfully. Narcissism come to play. Oh, how he he'd relish in the thing's pitiful cries for mercy! please, I beg of you! Every moment would be worth it. Thus, the perfect shot was key, and a grotesque smile pulled at his lips as one grimy finger pulled the trigger.

A blinding beam of light shot forthwith, blinding in its brilliance for a split second before all faded back to darkness.

The man waited for the figure to crash to the ground in a screaming heap of blood and shattered bone. His comrades waited just as expectantly.

Yet that moment failed to appear.

Desperately did they search the skies and land all 'round. To no avail. The figure was nowhere to be seen.

Lurid strings of profanities tainted the air in response with the acknowledged failure.

Their quarry had escaped.

There went their paycheck. And boy was he going to get it from his teammates once they returned to camp. Far as they were concerned, he'd just lost them a fifteen million dala deal and the excitement of tearing the monster limb from limb.

Little did the men realize as they reined their rides to a skittering half that their quarry had not escaped. Nor had it tried to.

Insolent fools. They dare fall for such a ridiculous farce? What true creature of the night ran in fear of wriggling mongrels as pathetic as humans? No true Noble would ever risk something so detrimental to their reputation. It would be absolutely devastating to their name as a Noble, not to mention their oversized egos.

But who was the idiot now! It was this group of mortals who dared call themselves "Vampire Hunters". Oh, how this Noble could scoff at the title. A human who kills the Nobility? Whom did they consider themselves‽ Fools! The world would be so much better off without such asinine creature living in it. All would be better off living without their stupidity.

A cruel smile pulled at the Noble's features.

He gazed at the man from his perch in the clouds.

He watched as they pulled their horses to a sudden halt, searching this way and that for him. All for naught! No human held the eyesight to pierce the cloudy barrier behind which he dwelt, let alone see anything in the dead of night when darkness encompassed all. They dare take a Vampire on at night? Insolent mortals! They would pay for their lack of humility in the presence of one as great as him. Oh, how they would pay. And so he planned their demise, silently trailing through the clouds as they called off the chase and returned to their camp. They were human. They would seek rest after such a long trek, and that was when he would take them.

He could already imagine the taste of their blood on his tongue.

Ah, this was such a beautiful night. Why not grace its black canvas with a few vermillion brushstrokes? Throw a bold color into the mix. Create a realm of red and black—a realm where the Nobility reigned supreme.

His bloody eyes sparkled with mirth.

Tonight was destined for fun.

...

Come the light of the morn, villages scattered 'cross the Frontier began to wake. Village life starts early, for there is much to do and only so much time. Everything much be accomplished betwixt dawn and dusk, or it's too late.

All 'cross the Frontier, this schedule was fulfilled.

Mothers and fathers rose from their beds. Mothers prepared the morning meal while fathers began setting up farm equipment so work could begin soon as breakfast was done. They finished about the same time, and one or the other awoke their sleeping children. A brief moment of family time at the table, smiles through groggy eyes, minds lost to the tasks assigned for this day. And then it was off to work. Plow the fields, feed the animals, weed the gardens, gather the ripened fruits, clean the home, purchase necessary supplies, etc.

Everywhere, this schedule became reality.

As was the way of all Frontiersmen, they completed their tasks with efficiency and congenial effort. Get it perfect the first time, and save oneself future work. Time was of the essence. Daren't risk staying out past dark.

This morn, however, something was different.

In the small village of 忘失天国 (Boushitsutengoku), the Forgotten Paradise, the ceremony was disrupted. Families awoke, but they failed to begin preparations for the long workday ahead. They rose, ate, and then saddled up the horses and hooked up the buggies and carts, riding off to town. Not a single storefront alighted with business.

All assembled within the center of the village, the small buildings seeming inadequate to contain as many people with their walls; there must have been at least five hundred gathered around in the square. They all stood around a single podium placed at the center of the square, an island of clear ground amidst the throngs of people surrounding. Its solemn, dark wood spoke of foreboding. Something was dreadfully wrong.

Yet this wrongness was not newfound. For it had already occurred. The people now met for more than their absolute horror at what they had discovered come the light of dawn but yesterday morn. Had it only been yesterday?

How well they recalled the sight of all the village's hunting hounds' corpses torn limb from limb, scattered through every street, ravens feeding greedily upon the spoiling dog meat. The memory of blood painted across each and every doorway was equally lucid. As well as the discovery of four Vampire Hunters impaled one atop the other, transfixed to the upraised blade of the bronze statue of Vampire Hunter Hakujou who hard slain the Noble which ruled this region four centuries previous. The Hunters' blood dripped down the bronze blade grotesquely, making the magnificent statue seem rusted and broken; nothing like the glorious savior which had rescued the people from their tyrannical lord all those years ago.

Four distinguished Vampire Hunters—dead. Just like that.

The villagers had pooled together all their money. Gave the Hunters a considerable advance payment. They would never see those dalas again.

That was the purpose of this meeting.

Four centuries; twenty score; forty decades. That was when the great Vampire Hunter Hakujou had appeared and liberated the villagers from their tyrannical Noble lord, Eimin Kasa-danshaku. Then, but a decade or so later, a new lord appeared and overtook the town. Such a short period of freedom. Their new lord was Son-Gyoukumo Kousui, and he was even more ruthless than Eimin-danshaku.

In the beginning, the villagers had attempted to contact Hakujou, but he had died by then. And no other Vampires Hunters went so out of the their way as to pass through Boushitsutengoku, a village so tiny it was a paper town, so they held no hope of hiring anyone to take care of Son-Gyoukumo. It didn't take long for them to give up.

Son-Gyoukumo has stolen many a life since, the majority of which were young women he took a brief liking to before drinking them dry. Every girl met her fate at Son-Gyoukumo's or her own people's hands. No matter what, they couldn't have another Noble being born. Already, too much was at stake with but one on their land.

This cycle had continued since then, unbroken for four centuries, more or less.

The people expected it to continue on forever.

Until one day a group of strange men came into town.

They were Vampire Hunters, and had heard of the unmatched cruelty of Gyoukumo Kousui. They fully intended to take a huge payment for their services in disposing of the fiend: fifteen million dallas. And the people paid them their dues. Finally! They would be free!

Only, the Hunters had failed.

All four had been slain, transfixed upon Hakujou's bronze blade. The situation was so ironic, it wasn't even funny.

Son-Gyoukumo was angry, now. He was angry at the insolence of the people he governed, turning against him. There would be retribution. This they knew undoubtedly. The Hunters' mutilated corpses were evidence enough, as well as the lurid memories of murders past.

The people trembled in fear as they stood in the square.

What was to be done?

"Where is my daughter?" one voice suddenly asked.

...

"Where is my daughter‽" The voice grew more urgent. More frenzied. Terrified.

The retribution had already begun, it seemed. A girl had already been kidnapped.

...

When night fell upon Boushitsutengoku, it engulfed the village entirely. Their paper lanterns pierced the oppressive darkness but a miniscule distance, the blackness a solid wall at the light's edge. Every breeze was eerie and foreboding in how it crinkled dead leaves across the way, the dried out foliage impacting windows with a ghostly wail, scratching the glass with a high, frightening pitch. The moon and stars were invisible in the overcast skies. Darkness consumed all, and the winds were light and unwanted. The air was frozen stiff, a pregnant silence pervading, the crinkling leaves seeming to only echo yet more silence. Time was ominous.

It was at this time when the Nobility reigned supreme. This was when human and hound alike fell to the clutches of sleep, despite their best efforts, and grew entirely helpless. None could resist. None could forewarn. None could escape.

No birds twittered. No children giggled. No hounds _bark_ed. No felines _meow_ed. No human woke.

Ah, such a wonderful time of night!

Son-Kousui gazed with wonder upon _his_ village from a perch atop one of his castle's various balconies.

The grotesque gargoyle beside him was astoundingly out of place with the _sakura_ trees beneath, blooms gone, but trunk and limbs still withholding the grace of springtime bloom. At least the village roofs, with their slate tiles, somewhat resembled the obsidian stone making up his medieval manor. Otherwise, the two were obtuse in every which way.

The Noble breathed the still night air in deeply, reveling in its death-like quality. He could still taste lifeblood on his tongue, so the contrast was of great interest.

Hm. Almost forgot about that.

Son-Kousui glanced back into his bedroom—although coffin-room would be far more appropriate an address—to spy the girl lying on the floor, facedown. He'd thought her beautiful when he first saw her. That euphoria had soon worn off. Bleh! human! Her blood was delicious, though, so at least he had that. His hunger was sated, body radiating a warmth an undead should never possess. She wasn't dead yet, either. Such a waste to just kill her.

A frown marred Son-Kousui's fantastic countenance. What to do, what to do...?

Simply killing the girl would be such a bore. After what those wretched villagers had done, especially. Hm, he should make the girl suffer. And not just here, either, but every single human in that village. Torture them, like he'd tortured all their hunting hounds. That had certainly been entertaining. And it had been most fun to scatter the dogs' bowels and limbs through the streets in a grotesque painting of grayscale and vermillion. A wide smile at the memory of killing those Hunters and impaling them on Hakujou's blade; he almost laughed at his brilliance. Had to stay creative. What more could he do to make the people suffer? Hm...

Well, he could steal some more girls. He was certainly bored enough to pull that. But what good would that do? He did that two score ago, already. No. Something more interesting, more grotesque and sadistic. Something more fun.

Watching those useless mongrels panic was certainly entertaining. But humans were eternal idiots and could easily perceive his not taking retribution on them as a sign of his growing weak. No, no! That couldn't happen! That would only mar his bloodsoaked reputation. Plus, it was boring just sitting around.

Think of something interesting. Something so morbid, the people would vomit their insides. Haha, that would be fun to see, if only he could be awake to watch it.

—Wait‼

It was just then when the perfect retribution struck him.

The grotesque grin which stretched Kousui's lips was truly divine in its morbidity. It would've made the Devil himself cringe in terror.

...

A single black cyborg horse trekked through the waning darkness. Its breath came out in a white steam and loud huffs. Night had been long with nonstop travel, and the beast needed to rest. It could see its destination up ahead: a small village with black-slated roofs and paper lantern porch-lights. There, it knew, it would be given rest and sustenance.

Its rider had spied the village long before. As well as the castle which loomed ominously beyond it, built straight into a sheer cliff face. It was truly an amazing sight to behold, yet the rider's youthful countenance betrayed not a single expression or thought.

He placed the slightest pressure on the horse's reins, pulling the mighty beast to a halt.

Overhead, the black sky was lightening, although not to the normal flourish of color and grayscale that accompanied the dawn, thanks to the pervasive cloud cover. The transformation from the night to dawn was far more inconspicuous than that, the change so gradual and minute that it was entirely imperceptible to any but creatures of the utmost instinctual knowledge and sensation. All 'round, the world remained dark and oppressive. Distant and nearby mountains alike towered overhead with foreboding, silhouettes blacker than the night which was only just coming to a close. There's no telling how long rider and steed remained at that spot in the road, youth staring unblinkingly ahead at the village. Yet, slowly but surely, the skies lightened to a more natural overcast shade of gray. Dawn had arrived.

As he watched, a change overcame the village. To his keen ears came the sounds of great yawns and grumbles; the villagers were waking.

And the steed began its pace once more, head bobbing rhythmically to the percussion _clop_ping of his hooves on the half-eroded slate pavement beneath.

Screams echoed all 'cross the land.

* * *

**A/N**  
Okay, I realize I used lots of Japanese, so allow me to elaborate on the names' meanings:  
薄情 – Hakujou – Cold-hearted; cruel; heartless; unfeeling  
永眠暈男爵 – Eimin Kasa-danshaku – "Eimin" equates "death or eternal sleep"; "Kasa" means "halo"; and "danshaku" is "baron"  
尊凝雲降水 – Son-Gyoukumo Kousui – "Son" is a prefix meaning "exalted, noble, precious, priceless, sacred, or valuable"; "Gyou" means "frozen", "kumo" "cloud"; and "Kousui" is "rainfall or precipitation"

Meanwhile, honorifics shall be utilized like hell. Here's a list:  
San—Most common, honorifics-wise. It's gender-neutral and polite. One uses it for equals, or to simply be polite without sucking up or debasing oneself  
Kun—In no way gender neutral; one'd _only_ use it for guys. It's about the same level as "san"  
Chan—A feminine address used for girls, particularly those younger than oneself; can also be used as an insult or endearment when used on a guy  
Kouhai—"Underclassman"  
Sempai—"Senior". They just have to be older than one  
Sama—This one puts the person on a pedestal. They are above one in every which way—wonderful, admirable, oh lordship we worship you! Suck-up, basically. One'd use it to address someone they look up to; their superior; or simply to be polite (an innkeeper, for instance, would use it to address their guests)  
Dono—Even higher than "sama"  
Sensei—"Master of Your Trade". Mostly used to address teachers, professors, doctors, authors, and so-on; people who've gone through years of schooling and hard work. Or someone who's considered wise  
Neechan / Neesan / Neesama—"Nee" can be surmised as meaning "Sister"; then you just add some honorifics to that "sister". Also, another common honorific is "o", so you could say "Oneesama"; adding that "o" drops oneself even lower  
Niichan / Niisan / Niisama—Same deal, except "Nii" can be surmised as "Brother"  
Imouto—"Little Sister". More often used as total address, rather than a suffix. The younger sibling, meanwhile, is not allowed to address their elder sibling without an honorific  
Otouto—"Little Brother". Same deal  
Kouhai, sempai, sensei, nee, nii, imouto, and otouto have the option of being used as a suffix or total address ("Tsukiko-sensei" or just "Sensei", for instance)

In case you're wondering, this story does in fact take place in Japan, post-apocalypse, of course  
The timeline is the same as the books: 12,090 AD or so  
D's left hand shall be addressed as 左手 – Hidarite – Left Hand, 'cause it's awkward just calling him Left Hand in English, plus it's an in-joke about Van Helsing from the movie (something about God's left hand)  
Also the village shall always be addressed by its Japanese name of Boushitsutengoku, rather than the English Forgotten Paradise

Thoughts? Comments? Confusion? Review, please~! Feedback equals love *heart*


	2. ライダー

**A/N**  
Yay, I get to introduce the main character (other than D)~!  
As for the... extensive descriptions, just know that there is _something_ in those descriptions which is imperatively important. Maybe you'll figure out which one and make the connections later (although I doubt it, 'cause I overdid it just to make it difficult) ^^

Last chapter's title was already translated, but this one isn't. So~: ライダー - RAIDAA - Rider. Simple as that

* * *

**Requiem for Ether  
**_A paradise in the clouds—Hell in the Heavens_

Son-Gyoukumo Kousui had certainly lived up to his name.

When the rider entered the village at a leisurely pace, he was immediately greeted with carnage.

Strung in every single doorway was a corpse: men, women, and children. Their hands and feet were nailed to the doorway, a massive silver stake through the heart. Carved into their foreheads was オマモリ (omamori), a good luck charm to ward off evil.

Through the streets were long trails of blood, like red silk in a river. It was lurid, and still wet.

This had only just been done.

Screams and sobs echoed off the walls, swirling into the early morn air. Were the rider to glance to either side of himself, there would be nothing to greet his eyes but one of these mutilated corpses and their sobbing family members. Women were lying on the ground, thick tears dribbling down their cheeks as they screamed and sobbed, pale digits clutching at the body's blue feet and trouser pants. The children either stared in silent horror as they went into shock, or stood around screaming irrationally, too mortified to do much else. Even some of the men had tears in their eyes, faces pale and stricken, either unable to move, or lost in an enraged madness as they beat at the motionless corpses, ordering them to wake up, that this wasn't funny. Most haunting of all were those who were silent. Those who simply stood and stared at the screaming people all around or the cadaver nailed to their door with empty eyes, unblinking, unmoving, unfeeling.

The scent of blood and death was overwhelming, yet the rider indicated nothing. He just stared ahead, urging his horse to continue forth. It was frightening how unmoved he was by the scene surround. How cool his countenance was, pale and cold and empty.

As he looked around, the rider came to realize something: everyone was young. He spied not a single person over thirty. And the majority of the people, dead and alive, were teenagers.

This village was practically composed of children!

Yet he betrayed no surprise or distaste or any other thought. He merely stored away the information for later analysis.

Despite the carnage all 'round, the rider continued forth, his horse's hooves _clop_ping unsettlingly in the puddles of blood and mud.

...

"My deepest apologies for the rude greetings Hunter-dono received."

Silence.

"I am sure the sight was not much to one so well-traveled as Hunter-dono. Even so, it was entirely unacceptable—"

"There is nothing to apologize for," the rider interrupted with a deep, empty voice.

Yama Kaiden looked down, away from the man's penetrating gaze. Her black eyes were heavy with stress.

"Understood," she said quietly. They were not the ones at fault; it was Son-Gyoukumo who wreaked such horror upon Boushitsutengoku. However, for someone so reserved, it remained unacceptable to reveal such a thing to an outsider. It was too personal. Outsiders did not understand this.

"What will you do?"

The girl's head jerked back up at that question. What would she do? The only thing she _could_ do at this point.

"I am unsure. However, Son-Gyoukumo has already delivered his retribution, so I may only hope he is content."

An unspoken question lingered in the air: "Will Hunter-dono hunt him for us?" The man before her was a Vampire Hunter, as she had already acknowledged in her every address. Yet she did not ask him for this. Nor would she. Hiring Vampire Hunters was what had resulted in the slaughter of one forth of her village. There was no way she would risk bringing such misery upon her people again by hiring another Hunter. And the village no longer had the money to spare for any such payment; all had been lost with the lives of those four—including what little hope there had been.

She nervously smoothed an invisible crease out of her _kimono_, eyes averted. Just waiting for a reprimand of some sort. For him to call her a complacent idiot. To say that he could easily slay Son-Gyoukumo.

To her surprise, no rebuke ever came.

"It is doubtful," she continued, "Son-Gyoukumo will take Hunter-dono's presence well. He might kill more people in a rage, possibly even Hunter-dono. So it is with great regret that I bequest Hunter-dono leave Boushitsutengoku by nightfall.

"We shall, of course, supply Hunter-dono with supplies and water for his horse. Our hospitality is at Hunter-dono's disposal."

Something else unspoken. They had plenty of water, and plenty of rice in the fields. But no one to harvest the rice. And therefore an impending food shortage. With so few people left to make the harvest, efficiency would plummet, and the harvest would be too small, despite the decreased population. Already was Kaiden's mind overwhelmed with the stress of planning the upcoming harvest, calculating who was fit to work what job, and so-on. Just this meeting with the Hunter she could not hire was detrimental. It was stealing time she should've been spending working. Oh yes! And the hunting hounds had all been slaughtered, so now what little protein had been in her people's diet was gone, as well as about half their food... Oh, maybe they could find a nearby river and try to fish some food? So much to do! She didn't have time to be entertaining this Hunter she couldn't hire.

"Would Hunter-dono be so kind as to excuse me? I shall call a servant to attend to you for the time being."

The two gave _ojigi_. Yama Kaiden's _ojigi_ was far deeper than the Hunter's, yet his seemed to hold more respect; she seemed more rushed, than anything.

And thus Kaiden shuffled backwards from the _chashitsu_ (tearoom), giving another _ojigi_ as she reached the doorway. A servant slid open the _shoji_ screen, to whom she whispered a few words before making her exit.

The servant turned to the Hunter. "Ah, Hunter-sama." It was a six year old girl. She spoke a crude formal, rather than _keigo_ as Yama Kaiden had, but it was comically sweet in such a high-pitched and innocent voice. "Hunter-sama's horse has been taken to the stables, and is being cared for. Meanwhile, won't Hunter-sama like to take a rest at the _sabou_ (teahouse)? It must have been a long journey." The nearest town was six days ride away.

"Yes."

...

The Hunter gazed blankly from the window of his room at the village _sabou_. Boushitsutengoku didn't receive many visitors, so an inn would be impractical; therefore, they just placed what few guests were ever to be had in an empty _chashitsu_. It was just as nice as any hotel, however, for the _sabou_ were cared for with the utmost diligence. The _tatami_ mats were without a single loose fringe or tear, despite the dilapidation of the streets just outside, and the _shoji_ screens smelt of freshly pasted rice-paper. His bed consisted of a rolled out mat made of finely-woven blue silk with a soothing wave pattern; it looked like the precision work of a _kimono_-maker.

Everything about the room was of the finest quality.

It made the Hunter truly obtuse. The _shoji_ screens were fresh white, the _tatami_ a light tan; the woodwork was of a cherry stain, his sleeping mat aquamarine. And the Hunter was garbed entirely in black, head to toe. From his black, flexible armor plating, to his onyx cloak, to the wide-brimmed midnight hat overtop his head. Even his hair was black. And, to contrast all this darkness, the Hunter's skin was as pale as the moon itself. His ethereal beauty was all that belonged within the well-kept _chashitsu_.

"What're you doing, D?" a scratchy voice asked from nowhere. The Hunter's lips had not moved, nor was there anyone else in the room. So who was it that had spoken?

And the mysterious voice received no reply.

The room was thick with a pregnant silence, a tension so overwhelming, it could be pierced by the longsword strapped across the rider's back.

Being 11:00 Morning, one should have been able to hear the bustling of the villagers all 'round. Yet there was no such thing. No carts rolling along the crumbling streets, no vendors calling out their goods, no children playfully scampering and laughing along the way to wherever it was they went, no one holding friendly conversation with one another. Only. total. silence. It was unsettling, really, how not a single noise cried out. Were someone to drop a pin, it would be a nuclear bomb in this silence.

This was no ordinary silence. It was a deathly still kind of silence, an endless moment in time, a foreboding, an unsettling _pr__é__lude_ to that which was to come.

Something was coming.

And it was no ordinary something.

A steaming cup of _o-cha_ (green tea) sat untouched on the table. The steam curled up in wafting swoops, swirling shapes sifting between abstract and hauntingly recognizable. At one point, it seemed to form the countenance of a woman with a face—

Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the apparition swirled into yet more abstract curls.

The Hunter, who had been gazing emptily out the window this whole time, was nowhere near facing the _o-cha_, so it was not any wonder he had given no reaction to the face, especially considering the chances of him having eyes in the back of his head.

Outside, meanwhile, the world was equally quiet. Which wasn't much of a wonder, either.

The view through the window was of a great _niwa_; a _kokeniwa_. Heavenly green _koke_ (moss) created a lush blanket overtop the ground, climbing up the seven Japanese maples strategically placed to direct the flow of _feng shui_. A placid _ike_ sat unmoving in the center of the garden, a sterling mirror to the ashen ether overhead, ringed by a slate-gray _ariso_; along this edge was the continuous, velvety _koke_ blanket, dotted with azaleas ranging in color from white to red, a stark contrast to the surrounding green, and white _satsuki_. Several _ishidoro_ dotted the waters alongside small _iwajima_. There was also an arrangement of _kamejima_. All this echoed of the ancient _Kusen Hakkai Ishi_; and with this revelation, the _ike_ could easily be considered _sansui_, as the worship of the mountain became clearly apparent. The _kokeniwa_ was a _kanshoniwa_, no doubt. Thus the _koke_ grew to hold great meaning in its absorption of sound, a _shima_ of silent peace, garbed in bamboo and two-needled pines. Jutting into the _ike_ was a gabled gazebo whilst small curls of incense smoke came—a place for prayer—placed atop a _dejima_, a small patch of bamboo stalks growing to wall in the single dirt pathway amongst the _koke_ which trailed off amongst the foliage.

Creating a _kokeniwa_ here was actually quite ingenious. Not once had the cloud cover ceased, so none of the plants received much direct light; it was heaven for _koke_. The air was cool and damp, but at a decent humidity, and there was dew everywhere, the roads bejeweled with puddles galore, their placid surfaces reflecting the ever ashen skies overhead. In the distance, thunder rumbled, echoing off the mountains surround, but dulled to near silence by the _koke_. Such all-encompassing quiet was unsettling, putting every sensation on high alert. Thus its being a _kanshoniwa_. Total silence, with nothing to distract, left much room for contemplation as one prayed at the gazebo overlooking such a beautiful scene, the scent of burning incense and dewy _koke_ creating a rich aroma which enveloped the senses. Time seemed at a standstill here, shadows unmoving with no Sun to direct them, no urban noise invading. Truly a paradise.

A paradise in the clouds, Heaven in Hell.

For, despite the _niwa_'s peace, this world was not in the least calm.

Normally, the quiet of the _niwa_ urged contemplation and deep thought. At this moment, however, there was a stiff tension in the air. And the rider sensed this unfailingly, although still nothing crossed his beautiful countenance.

Finally, sound pierced the stillness. A musical _pitter_-_patter_ rippling in the _sansui_, pooling atop the _koke_ river, shivering down the pine needles: rain.

Even this noise failed to pierce the tenseness, however. It needled through it, created little holes which seemed to tear with great cries. Great screams and bloodshed which tied the tension even tighter together.

What little light had been piercing through the cloud cover began to fade.

Across the _niwa_, with a fine black line, darkness encroached, despite its being midday, as the world fell into the blackness of night at noon.

...

Boushitsutengoku is an ancient village, placed high in the Northern Japanese Alps. To reach the village, one must trek through the rugged mountains, cross rushing rivers, and traverse intimidating gorges and ravines, many of which are without bridges or proper roads. Always, there is a thick snowpack, and glaciers dominate the high landscapes, for, in this region, cloud cover is eternal. The climate is due to a minor glitch in this sector's weather controller, and while the rest of the Honshu holds a moderate range of temperatures and weathers, this tiny region receives constant cloud cover which never wavers or fades, if only to darken with autumn thunderstorms. The people living in this environment, Boushitsutengoku in particular, have adapted their way of life to suit the controller's glitch.

For many months of the year, there is fantastic snowfall which stops all farming; thus, it is of the utmost importance to harvest as much food as possible come autumn, and even in summer. The houses are built of sturdy light-gray granite, hand quarried from the mountains surround, and black slate roofs in order to withstand the winter snows; meanwhile, all the inside walls are shoji screens, as well as at least one outside wall, in order to moderate between the hot and cold temperatures of summer, the structures themselves elevated several feet aboveground. Through the village are several canals channeling all the runoff rainwater to the nearby Haiame-gawa, or irrigating it to the rice fields surround—the people's main source of food. The rest of their diet consists of eagle, bear, and horsemeat, along with whatever small game their hunting hounds can catch.

This tiny village has existed with its miniscule population for seven millennia, under Noble rule a majority of the time. The Nobility was attracted to the region by its flourishing _onsen_ and mountain scenery. Soaring peaks provided the perfect fortress once humanity turned the tables on their rule, as well. And their werewolves were well suited to the cold and rugged terrain, which made for excellent hunting games. Boushitsutengoku has been used since time immemorial as a base for these games, the people so crushed by the Nobility's cruelty that they would never even consider rebelling, even as their women were stolen as sustenance and pleasure, their children for unimaginable experimentation, their men for cruel games of slaughter. In return for their deathly servitude, the villagers were given permanently fertile soil, more due to volcanic ash than anything else, immortal homes which did not burn down, and genetically engineered rice and sakura trees which could withstand the harsh winter months. Thus, they were given a permanent livelihood when many wished for nothing less than death.

For seven millennia, the mortal inhabitants of Boushitsutengoku have lived in the shadow of a Noble castle. A tyrannical ruler has been ever pervasive, the killing games growing more and more grotesque with every passing century, the experiments sicker. Their lord determines who is fit to live in the village and who shall perish by personal preference; this preference tends to lean towards the young, beautiful, helpless, and naïve. Thus, for seven millennia, no citizen of the tiny village has lived beyond thirty five. And children are subjugated to cruel experimentation and adult livelihood when they are nowhere near ready. Children becoming husband and wife, eleven year old girls bearing babies of their own. Incest ran rampant as the population dipped time and time again, as the number of workers to harvest the rice and feed the people faded. Brother with sister, father with daughter—it doesn't matter! So warped are they, the very concept of right from wrong in many normal aspects are nonexistent.

Nor is there anyone to intervene.

Boushitsutengoku is locked in by heavy snowfall the entire winter, most of the spring, and the latter half of autumn. This alone leaves the very possibility of connection with the outside world to summertime, of which is a fleeting and grievous season. No one visits the tiny village, for everyone knows of the absolute control its lord holds. There is no resistance, nor has there ever been any such record. None is willing to risk their own lives in order to rescue these condemned people.

Hope has grown to a faint concept present only in old books stored in a safe beneath Shichou's compound. Those texts are but fairytales to these forlorn folk—practically folktales themselves...

* * *

**A/N**  
山灰天 – Yama Kaiden – "Yama" means "Mountain"; "Kai" means "Gray or Ash"; and "den" means "sky or heaven". GoogleTranslate calls it "Heavenly Mountain Ash" lol, but I had "Mountain" and "Ashen Sky" or "Ashen Heavens" in mind when I created the name, as though the eternity of the mountains and the gray sky are synonymous, that they are in a forsaken paradise  
灰雨川 – Haiame-gawa – "Hai" means "Ash"; "ame" means "rain"; and "gawa" means "river". They're in the Northern Japanese Alps; therefore, there are volcanoes, plus the region's trapped in eternal cloud cover, so it's a play on the environment as "Ash-Rain River" or something along those lines  
An _ojigi_ is a Japanese bow. It is usually from the waist, men with their arms at their sides, women with their hands in front. In the instance it's utilized in this chapter, Kaiden and D are sitting on the floor, so the form's a bit different: hands in front, on the floor, forehead actually touching the floor if you go low enough. Kaiden went down to the floor, D only halfway, as you can probably guess from the description  
_Niwa_ – Literal translation is "pure place", but it's also used to reference a garden  
An _onsen_ is basically a hot spring  
Shichou means "Mayor"

It should also be noted that Japanese has no plural forms; therefore, I'm going to follow that grammar, even with Japanese words added to the English dictionary. Thus, "The two gave _ojigi_" instead of "o_jigi_s"

I made lots of Japanese garden references, I'll admit. Had to really work hard to look that stuff up O.O Here's the main site I used: _learn._ _bowdoin. edu / japanesegardens / glossary. Html_

When Yama Kaiden speaks, she addresses herself as "Atashi", which is the feminine form of "I", implying that she is weak and humble. She also utilizes lots of _keigo_ and _teinei_, which are extremely polite  
As for the comment about "formal and _keigo_", there are different levels of politeness. Kaiden used _keigo_, which is the most polite; the little girl used "formal", which isn't quite as polite, but still very much so. Children work their way up to _keigo_ from casual (also known as "child-speech"), and the child is six, so formal is actually pretty advanced for her age. Also considering politeness, it's very rude to order anyone to do anything, so they always phrase anything of the sort as a suggestion-question. At least there's an English equivalent for that one...  
Also, In Japanese, it is rude to use "you", so you just always address the person by their name, instead. In English... that's not possible without sounding stupid. Even so, I've tried to mimic that emphasis, so forgive the awkward wordings  
Meanwhile, D never addresses anyone directly. He doesn't say "you" or their name or anything. And while this is easily accomplishable in Japanese... it's pretty much impossible in English. So just know that if D ever says "you", he's not actually addressing the person directly. For example: "What will you do?" In Japanese, it'd be 「何を為ますか。」 (nani wo shimasu ka), none of those words of which mean "you" ('cause it's implied)

For more information on the setting, you can visit this site: _factsanddetails. com / japan. php?itemid=965&catid=25&subcatid=170_  
I picture Boushitsutengoku as being in the Matsumoto Northern Alps Area, near Matsumoto (notice the reference to fine silk-weaving?)


	3. ハンター

**A/N**  
How inthe_ hell_ did listening to 'Gee' encourage me to write for this...?

Hm, this chapter's a lot shorter than the others... I feel half-assed...

ハンター – HANTAA – Hunter

* * *

**Requiem for Ether  
**_A paradise in the clouds—Hell in the Heavens_

When night descended up Boushitsutengoku, it descended as an unfailing force. It enveloped all that was and ever would be, became blackened with an ashy, death-like embrace of carnal despair, fading life to eternal, luscious, velvety twilight. An eclipse upon light and hope. Heavy like the pervasive clouds overhead, suffocating in its all-consuming wont. Were this darkness to appear anywhere else, it could be nowhere near as dark, for nowhere else was all moonlight shorn beyond waves into nonexistence; starlight a myth of time immemorial, a fairytale; any luminescence piercing this ominous presence an unreality, a fragment of the dream world.

When night descended up Boushitsutengoku, it was merciless. It allowed not a spark or flicker to invade its blackness, and suppressed even the greatest bonfire to a dim ember. Light was intolerable. And should one dare create the slightest glimmer of luminescence, they would immediately be smothered with a severe backlash of endless, lightless depths, never to be as they had been again. It pressed down with indefatigable fervor. It suffocated all rebellion, and pressured all life into a deep, submissive sleep.

Thus the people feared the night.

They locked their doors, barred up the gardens, closed all the windows, slept in one room, etc. Most held no more security than that, for whatever monster of the night that could bypass those meager means, the people had no chance of stopping them otherwise.

But that was at night.

Right now, it was 11:00 Morning. So why was night so rapidly descending?

Absolutely all the villagers were in the rice fields, racing to harvest as much as they could before dusk. Some girls carried babies in slings over their backs, and there were toddlers scuttling about doing odd jobs. Everyone was pitching in, despite the horrors from earlier that morn, for if they were to survive the winter, there was no other option. Their village was resultingly deserted, aside from the Hunter in the _sabou_.

The children were quick to notice the wall of black crossing the landscape. They watched confusedly as blackness overcame the mountainside in which Son-Gyoukumo's castle was built; they watched as it passed over the alpine forest just beyond; they watched as it overtook Boushitsutengoku. When it began encasing the rice fields, the adults finally took notice. Screams rang out as they picked up the silent children and scrambled to outrun the encroaching darkness. But it was too late. It had always been too late.

One minute, the rice fields, the village, the wood, the mountain was visible. The next, there was only an endless, murky ether of blackness. Light had collapsed into a black hole. It devoured everything greedily, gobbling up the terrified humans and all the rest of the world around.

With the darkness came the silence of night as all grew still.

A pregnant silence, exactly as the Hunter had experienced at the _sabou_. It had spread all 'cross the land, efficiently devouring everything, growing tense, awaiting something. Had this sudden fall of darkness not been what was awaited? No. This had only been _pr__é__lude_ to the horrors to come.

A great howl ripped through the stillness, the silence, the tension.

Yes. This was why nature had been holding her breath.

Son-Gyoukumo had released the werewolves.

...

The Hunter stepped silently atop the _koke_, hidden by a bamboo grove, as he observed the scene before him.

While humans were outright blind in this eclipse, he could see clear as day, if not more so. Which enabled the Hunter to watch unobstructed as a shadow descended upon the gazebo in a fluid swish of cape and wind. The form was distinguishable only in how the surrounding shadows seemed to warp as it passed before them. But the Hunter caught it. No detail was unseen by those blue eyes.

Inside of the gazebo was the shape of a teenage girl kneeling over several plaques; the incense had burned out with the arrival of the cloaked figure, causing her to freeze up in terror. Her tremors were blatantly visible, despite the girl's desperate attempts at quelling, or at least lessening, them. It was obvious she knew someone—or some_thing_—was there, dangerous and unholy, yet she did not turn. She merely remained as she had been for the past while, praying to her ancestors. And as the shadow took its first steps towards her, the soft, if not hoarse, whispers of her desperate prayers were heard. They went something along the lines of, "Pray Ancestors sleep well in Paradise, and that they watch over their people. Pray Ancestors they protect us from danger, and if not, then that we hold a place at their side in Paradise. Pray Ancestors that death is quick and merciless, that the generations may continue..." As the figure grew closer, her prayers grew more high-pitched, quieter, stuttered. Her shivers increased tenfold, and one could easily picture her clasping her hands 'til her fingers turned white, eyes squeezed tightly shut as though that would keep the danger out, countenance pale and bloodless, whilst a cold sweat glistened on her neck amongst the darkness.

The figure reached out a white hand that never touched a hair on her head. For at that same moment, there was a blinding flash of steel, and the limb arced through the air. It landed in the _sansui_ with a perverted splash which threw the silence into chaos. Werewolf howls ripped through the air, accompanied by the screams of the villagers. And a growl from the shadow.

With a flourish of swirling black fabric, the figure spun around to reveal his glowing red eyes and extended canines. He glared at the intruder. It was terrifying as his lips pulled back, further revealing those razor-sharp fangs, pupils but feral slits, fingers curled into long claws. He looked like a saber-toothed tiger, tensed to pounce upon the one who dared impede his meal. And amongst this feral animalism, he was astoundingly beautiful: the visage of a black angel, skin paler than the moon, features patrician and smooth, posture regal even through his feline crouch. His floor-length onyx cloak did nothing to disguise his lithe body as it slid open with his upraised arms, garbed in an ash waistcoat; white, Victorian collar blouse; and onyx silk pant tucked into darker black knee-highs.

This was none other than Gyoukumo Kousui himself, the Noble lord of Boushitsutengoku.

Even at Son-Gyoukumo's abrupt transformation to savage vampire, the Hunter did not waver. He stood unmarked before the Noble, longsword held loosely at his side. As usual, his equally beautiful, if not more, countenance was empty of emotion or thought. He gazed upon Son-Gyoukumo with blank eyes. Not a trace of fear was to be found.

No longer was this man "the rider". He was now "the Hunter".

But Yama Kaiden had refused to hire him. No Hunter handed out their services for free, so what could be his purpose in interfering with the Noble?

None could comprehend the Hunter's reasoning. It didn't matter either way, though. This was the here and now, and right then, the Hunter had attacked a Noble.

He would pay.

Not today, however.

With a final, throaty growl, Son-Gyoukumo leapt into the air, disappearing amongst the darkness. The Hunter did not pursue.

All was still for a long moment as the Hunter stood motionless in the pouring rain, the girl still kneeling before the alter.

The darkness disappeared suddenly as a wave of light overtook the land once more. The eclipse had ended.

Finally, the girl turned from her ancestors' plaques to face the Hunter. Yama Kaiden gazed upon the man with puzzled eyes.

...

No matter how she questioned him, Yama Kaiden was unable to receive any sort of answer to her questions, every polite inquiry met with little less than silence. She knew better than to conclude his rescuing her had anything to do with principles or moral code. Hunters were not allowed such a luxury. So why had he saved her? The only result of her ponderings was a pounding headache. In the end, he returned to his room at the _sabou_. She sent a request to the owner to allow him a stay for the night. Son-Gyoukumo was already pissed. No point in throwing the man who just saved her life out when it would change nothing.

She had bigger things to worry about, anyways.

Werewolves did not suffer the same woes as their vampire masters in the sunlight. They were the Nobles' daylight guardians, and Son-Gyoukumo had a great many as servants and pets. He had released them upon Boushitsutengoku before, and they had slaughtered great droves of her people. Last time that had occurred, however, their population had been at a decade high, and they were able to recover from the massive dip. This time was different. Already had Son-Gyoukumo murdered a quarter of the village that very night; then he released the werewolves upon them while they were exposed in the rice fields. At least one hundred were dead or missing. Only around two hundred fifty people remained. Nowhere near enough to harvest the rice to feed everyone.

What was he doing? At this rate, Boushitsutengoku would disappear altogether. That wasn't especially beneficial for the Noble lord. He needed some source of food, didn't he?

... Was that what she had been reduced to? Did she really think of her village as Son-Gyoukumo's silver platter? That was how it was, most definitely, but never before had she so boldly admitted this. It was too horrible a fate. Too depraved, too wretched, too...

When Yama Kaiden went to her room that night, it was only understandable for her to be in as a low a morale as she was. There was no hope for sleep.

For several hours, she sat before the window overlooking the _kokeniwa_, contemplating what to do. It was always calming to gaze out at the _niwa_. Those placid waters, the all-encompassing silence which was strangely comforting. She could never escape the feeling of being watched, but passed that off as perhaps her own stresses. And her ordeal from earlier that day.

No. No. Had to think of a plan. How could she save her people? The life of Son-Gyoukumo's food was no kind of life, but it was the only life they could ever have. These forsaken people had little less to hope for. So what could she do?

Everyone had already been pitching in. Then they lost one hundred more. How to make up for this shortfall... Hm. Well, perhaps working in shifts would improve productivity? As the day wore on, the people tired and efficiency dropped. If they worked in shifts, all would be rested, even by the day's final hours. This would decrease the amount of rice harvested at a time, but in the long run, it could procure even more than if everyone worked at once nonstop. Yes! That was it! Shifts would be organized and assigned late tomorrow, after the mass funeral from both of today's slaughters. They deserved a proper funeral; they deserved their places in Paradise. They all did.

It would be a lie to say Yama Kaiden's mind was at peace with this solution, but it was the most she could hope for at this point. Somehow, the solution rose above the desolation of that morn. It was a solution.

What next? What would Son-Gyoukumo throw at them now?

...

A short scream pierced the silence of night. From darkness came light from many lanterns, bobbing sprites racing through shadowed corridors. The compound had been jolted awake by a young girl's cry.

Help came too late.

Maids, cooks, gardeners, etc arrived upon the scene of the attack to find Yama Kaiden with a girl held in her arms, sobbing softly. She held the corpse to her tightly, unabashed despite her being garbed in naught but a thin, white _hadajuban_, caught in an unending swirl of grief. The child was none other than Yama Meina, Kaiden's eldest daughter, only six. Two fang-marks were luridly visible alongside a crimson stain upon the girl's collar. This had been done by none other than Son-Gyoukumo, himself; of this there could be no doubt.

So much death in so little time! Was there no end to Son-Gyoukumo's wrath upon Boushitsutengoku?

Far as the Noble was concerned, these people had brought this fate upon themselves in hiring those Vampire Hunters. And everyone knew this was why he dealt such devastating blows upon them. Questions like _Who will be next?_ and _Will the madness never cease?_ came to mind. None could be sure. Son-Gyoukumo was frightfully unpredictable and cruel. There was no telling how long this madness would pervade, how many more lives would be lost to his wrath. That was just what made it so frightening.

To the Hunter, standing silently, invisibly in the shadows of the _niwa_, gazing through the wide open _shoji_ screen which had been Gyoukumo's doorway, the people's shakes and shivers were clearly visible. It was certain to his eyes that they shook, not from grief like Kaiden, but sheer, overwhelming terror. Terror that they would be next. That their family would be next. Such had already occurred just earlier, yet more was held over their heads—who could be blamed? This incorrigible anxiety which overtook all logic and cognitive ability was too overpowering for such meager mortals to withstand. Too weak. Too open. It was astounding, really, how such a grief-stricken village could be overflowing with villagers so frightfully fearful of Death—of the very idea of _shinigami_'s sickle being poised against their throats—when they dealt with the possibility in their every waking moment.

Odder, still, was the people's reactions when the Hunter entered the corridor. His steps were silent, pale countenance a stark contrast to the blackness of night so sewn into his clothes. They noticed him right away, yet did not back away, or reveal yet more fear or unsureness. They gave him a quick once-over before turning all attention back to Meina and Kaiden.

If anything, they should've either frozen up in sheer terror or given a violent reaction. Especially considering the circumstances: vampire victim, black of night, appearing from nigh thin air.

The Hunter almost froze, himself, from the shock of their unconventional response. But, this Hunter being who he was, that, of course, did not occur. He continued on as though nothing odd had happened in the least; a knighted breeze through the doorway.

He turned his indecipherable gaze to Meina and Kaiden.

Feeling the Hunter's eyes, Kaiden looked up, tearstains running down her cheeks, black orbs lurid with pain. To the Hunter's surprise, she held the body up for him, disposition pleading. There was no fear in her. Only grief—and anger. He took the limp child into his arms before delicately examining her neck. The bite wounds were deep, edges white from her attacker's vigorous drink. He spied small bruises on her shoulders and neck, yet her face was porcelain smooth; a death mask of beauty and peace. Such an eerie message from the vampire lord. A premonition tickling the psyche. Meina was then returned to her mother's arms, who, in turn, hugged the corpse one last time. Kaiden's desperate hold on the dead child spoke of so much which could never be spoken aloud: to hire the Hunter, to kill Son-Gyoukumo, to bring divine retribution to her crumbling village, to live at peace, without a cruel Noble lord. So many wishes of which she could never beg to be fulfilled. This child's shattered voice a cruel personification of Yama Kaiden's situation.

Others had cried out when their loved ones were stolen from them, yet nothing had been done. For there was nothing they _could_ do. The previous _shichou_ had hired four Hunters to bring retribution for the lives stolen by Son-Gyoukumo. And those Hunters had failed. The people had paid—and were still paying. More innocents had perished because of that decision. Yama Kaiden was Boushitsutengoku's new _shichou_. She held no right to demand Son-Gyoukumo pay for killing her child, for she had not spoken up for any others'. The teen absolutely refused to hire a Hunter, as her father had done first chance. All too quickly had she learned the lesson Son-Gyoukumo forced upon the people.

There was another reason, as well. A secret reason which could not be revealed under any circumstances.

Somehow, someway, the Hunter knew.

And this was terrifying.

Tomorrow was the mass funeral for all who'd been slain by Son-Gyoukumo and his minions. Yama Meina would join her people.

* * *

**A/N  
**冥儺 – Meina – "Mei" means "dark", and "na" means "exorcism". In Japanese, by the way, the surname comes first, thus Yama Meina  
_Hadajuban_ is the first layer of _kimono_ underwear, a word meaning "next to skin"

I just thought I should point out Gyoukumo Kousui's prefix, "Son". "Son" means "Noble", as I've said before. The sentence "This was none other than Gyoukumo Kousui himself, the Noble lord of Boushitsutengoku" aptly demonstrates the thought that went behind my choosing this specific prefix. Thus far, Gyoukumo has almost never been addressed without that prefix, so as to show the "reverence" the characters (other than D) express towards him. And even in this sentence, when it is D acknowledging the vampire's presence, the honorific is still there—but not before Gyoukumo's name. Instead, it's placed here: "The Noble lord of Boushitsutengoku." As if to show that same reverence towards Boushitsutengoku, even though, at the same time, it's still acknowledging not only Gyoukumo, but also Gyoukumo's lordship over the village. It's a play on words, both English and Japanese, in other words *snicker*, and I chose that prefix just so I could use it as such ^^

I should also like to remind that it was pouring at the time of Son-Gyoukumo's first appearance in the chapter. Both he and D were out in that downpour without appearing to be affected in any way. That _will_ be explained later


	4. 山灰天

**A/N**  
Most awesome thing ever: I was already planning on writing a snow-scene—but it started snowing _while_ I was writing it‼ I so happy *dreamy-eyed*...

I sincerely recommend listening to 月舞 (Dance to the Moon) by 于紅梅 和 趙聰 (Yu Hong-Mei and Zhao Tsong) while reading this, so long as you're willing to listen to an _erhu_-_pipa_ duet

In case you need a refresh: 山灰天 – Yama Kaiden – "Mountain" and "Ashen Heavens"

* * *

**Requiem for Ether  
**_A paradise in the clouds—Hell in the Heavens_

Shifts were assigned the next day, shortly following the funeral. Life went on. Work continued.

A heavy snow threatened. Yesterday, _Shinryuu_ had released a torrential downpour upon the land; the last of the season, they knew. As the villagers worked their shifts in the fields this day, they distinctly felt the icy wind whipping at their cheeks, the freezing water through which they trudged. That morn, frost had settled overtop slate rooftops, crumbling streets, _niwa_. It was truly a magical sight, sparkling crystals in the early morn light, distorted by cloud cover. Made it seem like the land was encrusted with diamonds. And created a magical backdrop for the funeral: the frozen tears of those passed.

Never before had Yama Kaiden worked so enduringly. Daughter of the _shichou_, she had been a child of privilege, so far as privilege went in this living Hell. She was spared the labor of slaving away in the rice fields. This late summer, however, even she was found physically tolling herself in the harvest. It was odd. Fingers accustomed to swirling ink on pristine white parchment found themselves blistering on rough, wooden tools, prunes from their time in the freezing waters. Kaiden had found herself borrowing a _yukata_ hewn of scratchy, low-quality silk from a friend. Everything was so foreign, but she didn't complain. Her people toiled away their days as such just this way, and so could she; Boushitsutengoku needed all its helping hands to pitch in, and she was in perfect condition to do so, although most definitely unused to such exertions.

So soon as her shift had ended, the teen collapsed into a deep slumber in her room, not even bothering to close the open window.

When such danger lurked without, why would someone so precise do something so reckless? Even exhausted, this act was entirely out of Kaiden's character.

Unless she had realized that there was no point.

No point to what?

Only she and the Hunter knew.

Kaiden was but seventeen, yet she held wizened eyes far beyond her years; they were dark and heavy with grief, with life, with unwanted knowledge. The phrase "You can't unsee the truth" came to mind, especially when gazing into those endlessly black orbs. They held that distinct haunted look, ever sleeplessly exhausted, heavy with unspoken emotion and intelligence. She was a cunning girl, schooled in all available, armed with a quick wit which easily knocked any cocky scholar off his pedestal. Nimble fingers stroked out a most lustrous calligraphy, embroidered meticulous _omamori_, played out deigning melodies on _sanxian_ and _koto_; some said she had been blessed by _Benten_. Her pale countenance was porcelain smooth, armed with onyx, almond eyes of a stark contrast which brought direct attention to themselves. She was a shy girl, however, and tended to direct those enrapturing orbs to her hands, rather than rudely distracting whomever she spoke with.

No one knew much about her besides these simple observations. She was far too clever to drop the reservation and reveal all her cards.

Every single action, no matter how stressed, was procured with great consideration. Her decision to assign shifts to the rice harvest, for instance, was backed by several hours of math that late eve to see which solution might procure the best results. And when pondering solutions, she'd thought up not just one, but several, going over the pros and cons of each. Then there was the mass funeral. Normally, each family would hold its own ceremony. That wasn't possible with nearly three hundred, so she'd conjured the solution of sectioning Boushitsutengoku off, and assigning each section with the burial of the dead who'd once lived there. This way, two hundred fifty or so corpses were buried simultaneously, within a set timeframe which allowed for the harvest to continue that very day, and still followed the ancient customs and respected those who had fallen.

For a girl of seventeen, this was quite a feat, especially to accomplish within a two-day period.

Night descended. Kaiden did not wake.

...

As was customary for a Boushitsutengoku night, it was of an endless darkness, star- and moon-light gobbled up by the eternal cloud cover. The village sat deathly still and silent. Tense. Foreboding. As though it were holding its breath.

Son-Gyoukumo had dealt retribution for their betrayal four times, already. Would he prey upon them once more, this night? The Nobility was never lax in terms of cruelty. The people could practically taste the horrors to come. Oh! how they could already feel his blooded breath on their throats, his canines piercing supple flesh—

Night is still. Night is dark.

Here, in Boushitsutengoku, night was endless and penetrating. None could escape its clammy grasp, whispering clouds swirling overhead with a churn of demons. One could see their hands not. Only blackness. A numb cocoon of isolation, like nothing existed besides oneself. Screams were hollowed, echoed, and then absorbed.

And no matter what, this high-top Hell was inescapable.

This was what made it unbearable. The knowledge of a damned escape stood to be a lunacy-inducing prison.

Escape—escape. There was no escape! No way out, no way in. All alone, forever and for eternity. Lost and trapped all in one, 'til the end of Time itself.

Son-Gyoukumo embraced this torturous darkness. He wielded it as his own personal death-scythe, looming overhead with a booming thunder-laugh, flashing lightning-fangs. His cloak was night, his eyes death, his heart ash, his soul black hole. He was a monster in every sense of the word; a Noble through and through.

So he appeared to the residents of Boushitsutengoku. So he hounded into their brains with his every sadistic act.

This dark night was filled with dragon's breath: misting swirls of frozen depths. It spiny back arched overhead, a scaled wall which harbored naught but evil. On the high spines were caps of white, a cluster of diamond and quartz treasuries, sparkling as the mists drifted by, shattering rays of silver light before they were absorbed within the valley depths. The fog crept overtop rice fields and through streets; it wrapped an icy blanket over the slate roofed houses, pressing against wood and _shoji_ in a silent rap. A dew settled. Looked like little eyes spying on the people, or perhaps eggs awaiting the moment to spawn and reap their devilry upon the land. Perhaps it was. There was no telling.

These mists drifted betwixt the Japanese maples, distorting the _feng shui _into something corrupt as dark energy was circulated through pure veins. It crept across the _ike_ like a predator, whilst a thin layer of ice crystallized atop the _sansui_. Dewy eyes appeared within _ishidoro_, as though _Shinryuu_ were slaying goodness's salient light. Inside the gazebo, incense was snuffed, enlightening aroma distilled to evil.

It was eerie how easily the creatures of darkness might creep through the vapor undetected, especially amongst the _koke_.

From the misty depths appeared a figure of darkness. His face was regal and pale and smooth and ever so intoxicating. That gorgeous countenance was framed with silky, onyx locks which tossed themselves overtop his forehead in a careless, alluring manner, just begging to be threaded through with eager fingers. His skin was paler than the moon, almost blue, and unblemished. And his eyes! oh, his eyes. They were a deep green, practically black, which caught the shattered light like emeralds, brandishing a color scheme all their own amongst the grayscale. They sparkled with mirth, with bloodlust, with loneliness, with madness, with denial, with regality. His visage was tall and narrow, almond eyes the focal point with a patrician nose between, and his mouth was flat, disguising the vicious fangs which dwelled beneath those seductively red lips.

Son-Gyoukumo had appeared. Although for what purpose was unknown, it couldn't be anything good.

He crept in total silence overtop the _koke_, cloak swishing betwixt bushes and trees, countenance blank. His body was hidden beneath the ankle-length cloak, and this seemed to embody his own ethereal mystery. Was this not the Noble who had walked through a downpour seemingly unaffected? The Noble who held the audacity to leave the sanctuary of his castle during a brief interlude of darkness with the risk of being set aflame the moment it ended? Certainly, Son-Gyoukumo was no ordinary member of the Nobility.

Moved like one, though. His steps were empty of noise, movements so smooth, he seemed to float over the _koke_. There was nothing ungraceful about him. This effortless dexterity screamed Nobility. As did the pale countenance and bloodlust-eyes.

The Noble came to a halt beneath a two-needled pine; the needles sparkled with dew, refracting their silvered light off his brooding eyes.

For hours, he stood there, staring through the open window of the _shichou_ compound, the mists embracing his still, dark form in a mercury caress. When the moon had reached its zenith, although no human could discern as such, he melted into the murky depths and faded off into the Boushitsutengoku night.

...

"You and your oaths," a mysterious, scratchy voice ranted. "I'll never understand why you feel so obligated to comply with the wishes of the dead! They're _dead_‼"

It was unknown from whence the voice came. The Hunter was alone beneath the compound, poring over a scroll lined in letters of foreign tongue, and it most certainly wasn't his deep monotone. The voice seemed to originate from the scroll clutched between his pale digits.

"I mean, seriously, D—what good's it gonna do you here? These backwoods idiots won't pay you a thing. Y'keep up with these handouts and you'll be broke, soon enough. And then where will you be? Where will _I _be‽"

This berating stigma elicited no response from the ever stoic Hunter.

"Why're you still here, anyways? Weren't you supposed to be kicked out yesterday?"

That was true. Yama Kaiden had told the Hunter he could stay for the night, after the werewolf slaughter, of course, and stay he had. But that had been the night previous this. Why was he still here? Especially since he would receive no payment were he to slay Gyoukumo Kousui. There was no incentive, yet he remained, nonetheless. Why?

The voice seemed to know why. It was simply unsatisfied with the reasoning.

What was this about oaths to the dead?

"You should just turn around, and—" Without warning, the rant was cut off. It appeared the Hunter had found something interesting in the scroll. "Oh-ho... Now I see..."

...

As the moon reached its zenith, the weather shifted, and Son-Gyoukumo melted into the darkness of night just as the first flake fluttered into the _niwa_. The lonesome little ice crystal floated gently on the breeze, swishing and swirling in a white flourish between the Japanese maples and two-needled pines; it swooped on by the azaleas and _satsuki_; before finally settling atop the icy casing at the edge of the _ike_, right alongside the _dejima_. The snowflake was pristine white, and of an ostentatious pattern sporting six speared tips, the staffs of which were adorned by leaf-shaped ornaments; the limbs connected congenially at the center in a spiral of six which seemed to sparkle in the dim silver light. Alone, the flake glittered, a gem of white amongst the overwhelming green _koke_. It slowly faded away into the icy _sansui_, melting into the whiteness, like Son-Gyoukumo had the night.

The flake was not alone, however. It was soon followed by another gliding ice crystal. Then another. And another.

Soon enough, a screen of ash was upon the _kokeniwa_, brushing a white dust overtop the _koke_. The green blanket of velvet was soon dyed white, and it looked like a sea of powdered sugar.

One by one, snowflakes drifted down, increasing in intensity and volume with every passing second. They created an engulfing death shroud of diamond and quartz which formed a layered dusting overtop black slate and green _koke_ alike. Along the edge of the _ike_, the ice invaded deeper into the _sansui_, overtaking placid waters with a reflective gleam. The flakes settled betwixt the pines' needles as dew transmuted into hunks of crystal; they danced and twirled in the breeze, swooping in fantastic whorls.

The silence of night wasn't pierced by the soft goose down billow, but deepened as the blanket absorbed sound like _koke_, only far beyond the _niwa_ into the lands outside its tranquility.

Flurries swooped by in an intricate ballet. Snowflakes twirled into the bowels of _ishidoro_, settled atop the shells of _kamejima_, dangled precariously to the bare maple branches like diamond earrings alongside the icicles. Snowcaps formed atop the _ariso_, sparkling just like the dragon spines lost in snow and mist overhead.

Bobbing black pranced through the ashen blizzard. It was the onyx-haired head of Yama Hakugin, Kaiden's three year old daughter. The child was skipping along the snow-covered pathway leading into the gazebo. All 'round, the world was awash in grayscale black and white. Her own locks were blacker than midnight, visage a pale mirror to the frozen _ike_; she was garbed in a black _homongi_ and snowy-birch-patterned _fukura suzume_, over which was a white _haori_. Were one to look closely, they would note how Hakugin's nose was oddly patrician, eyes of a faint emerald tint; her brows were long and narrow and sharply defined. She was the spitting image of her late Oneesama, Meina, only more refined, like a member of the aristocracy. Overall, the girl was absolutely adorable.

She flounced through the snow with a smile on her face, lips almost red from the cold.

Halfway through the wall of bamboo, Hakugin paused. She turned her pale face to the ether hidden above by swirling flakes, and her grin widened. "Thank you so much for this blessing of snow, _Yuki-Onna_-sama," she giggled. And then the girl continued on her way, kicking up a misted swirl of flakes on her way into the gazebo.

...

Kaiden awoke with a start. One minute, her breathing was slow and steady with sleep; the next—a sharp gasp, as though struggling, drowning. She jerked into a sitting position, body weakly supported on shaking hands, and spun her head about this way and that. Her black hair swished with the movement, strands slapping her cheeks.

The frenzied girl's eyes came to rest upon the open window and the white pixies fluttering through the darkness. Luckily, there had been nothing more than minor breezes, so no flakes had found their way onto the _tatami_; the _shoji_ were dry, too. It was far below freezing, so portrayed by Kaiden's vapor-breath. Every exhalation came out in a great white plume reminiscent of the earlier dragon breath which had settled overtop the land. The snow had since taken its place, but without, visibility remained low. The air was stiff with cold, dry and smooth. Her throat was cracked from dehydration and low humidity, but Kaiden paid no attention to this. She remained completely focused on the window. Waiting.

After five motionless minutes, the tension in the girl's body relaxed, and she let out a relieved sigh, turning away from the snow. She gazed down at her blue fingers as they tightly clutched her Willow and Crane patterned sleeping mat, the silk unfelt betwixt her numb digits.

"_Yuki-Onna_ has certainly outdone herself, hasn't she."

Kaiden's eyes grew wider than seemed possible as she stopped breathing altogether at the sound of that voice. It was deep and confident and suave and inhuman; it echoed eerily through the room, off the _tatami_ and _shoji _and softly falling snow. Her shoulders were stiffer than boards as she jerkily turned to face the voice, the figure in black standing over in the corner, right by the door. Son-Gyoukumo. He had spoken in _keigo_, teasing her own manner of speaking, a fanged smile gracing those luscious, red lips.

"The snowfall is so heavy, I had no choice but to seek shelter. Although that certainly hasn't impeded Hakugin-chan." At this, he cocked his head to the side, smile widening. The expression could almost be passed off as pride.

Yama Kaiden's grip tightened on the mat, pulling the fine silk into distorting waves. Her wide black eyes didn't waver from Son-Gyoukumo's form as she pulled the blanket towards herself. Which was odd. With a Noble in her room, why was Kaiden concerned about the cold, all of a sudden?

Son-Gyoukumo took a booted step forward, his silent step unnerving. Responding, Kaiden scooted back, pulling the blanket further closer. Another step, another slide. Soon enough, Son-Gyoukumo towered above Kaiden as she crouched atop the _tatami_, silk blanket thrown childishly over her head; her tremors were clearly visible through the fabric.

"Now, now, enough of these games," he chastised as though to a child. His smile was bright, but it didn't reach those hard, emerald eyes. Actually, they almost seemed to be transmuting into rubies. And with that, the Noble ripped the blanket off Kaiden—

And a flash of silver spliced through the air. Blood arced from the slash in Gyoukumo's chest as Kaiden's _katana_ glistened wetly in the snow-light.

* * *

**A/N**  
白銀 - Hakugin – "Silver; Snow". The first kanji means "white", the second "silver"_  
Shinryuu_—also known as _Shén lóng_, in Chinese—is an imperial dragon, armed with his five claws; he is the bringer of rain and master of storms, and, astoundingly enough, of equal importance as _Tiānlóng_, the celestial dragon (by the way, this definition is for _Shén lóng_, but—close enough!)  
This chappy's certainly got something of a dragon theme... And as for that dragon theme! Go look back in history, and people have referred to mountain ranges as dragons. The Japanese Alps are pretty rugged and dragon-y, by my opinion lol  
_Benten_ is a Japanese goddess. She's the goddess of love, eloquence, fine arts, and wisdom. I'm pretty sure she's also got associations with water  
_Yuki-Onna_ is the Snow Queen or Goddess of Winter  
_Homongi_ are semiformal _kimono_ mostly worn for tea gatherings or small parties (pretty high-class for a three year old, though); a _fukura suzume_ is sparrow style _obi_; and _haori_ are _very_ formal jackets worn over a _kimono_

Okay, I realize the _sanxian_ is a Chinese instrument, and I _probably_ should've just called it a _sanshin_, but I'm biased and like its Chinese predecessor more, so live with it -_-  
For some beautiful music played on the _sanxian_, here're some YouTube links:  
_YouTube. com / watch?v=VK_7HxUQSxM  
YouTube. com / watch?v=doehGHQMSwY&feature=related  
YouTube. com / watch?v=Bop-lXzdfPM&feature=related_  
Then there was also the _koto_, which _is_ Japanese. Thirteen strings—ha! Here's some beautiful music for that, too ^^:  
_YouTube. com / watch?v=75uAD-XYs6U  
YouTube. com / watch?v=Tczxw8bVMZM&feature=related_

Son-Gyoukumo—I can't believe these are his first lines O.o—by the way, addresses himself as "Ore-sama", which could be translated as "The Great Me", 'cause it's an "I" with an ego. You'd have to be unworried about sounding rude or egotistical to use this, and Kousui certainly fits the book lol

Oh, and I forgot to mention this when I described the _niwa_: 7 (七) is the Japanese lucky number; meanwhile, 4 (四) is the Chinese number of death (not sure if it's the same in Japanese culture). Those will appear again!

And, in honor of Thanksgiving, I used the word "gobble": "star- and moon-light gobbled up by the eternal cloud cover." *smirk* 'Cause I'm just _that_ dedicated to the holiday


	5. 雪妃

**A/N**  
This chapter's a bit more of a narrative than those previous, 'cause its goes into describing the actions of a scene, rather than the scene itself. And sorry for any awkwardness. Narrating is not my element, but was necessary for the development of the story (not to mention moving on to _plot_, rather than scenery). Plus, I have Writer's Block, even while being struck with mad inspiration for later chapters... Gah—!

Just a reminder of the players...  
Character list: 薄情 – Hakujou; 永眠暈 – Eimin Kasa; 凝雲降水 – Gyoukumo Kousui; 山灰天 – Yama Kaiden; 冥儺 – Meina; 白銀 – Hakugin; ディー – D; 左手 – Hidarite (Left Hand)  
Even the dead characters still have a part to play ;D And, we'll have a new character introduced

* * *

**Requiem for Ether  
**_A paradise in the clouds—Hell in the Heavens_

Sparkling scarlet droplets swooped through the air, their _pitter_-_patter_ mingling with Kaiden's singing blade in a haunting melody. Her countenance no longer held fear of any kind; only cool resolve.

Son-Gyoukumo held a gloved hand to his wound, of which was already healed. His finely woven silk waistcoat was spliced diagonally across the chest, blade-tip having gone from left shoulder to bottom right rib. She'd been centimeters from a death-blow, whether heart or neck being the initial target, unknown.

His smile was gone. Those emerald eyes were frighteningly dead.

Playtime was over.

As Son-Gyoukumo took a step forward, Kaiden swung her saber at his head, the silver metal swooping in an ethereal shimmer in the snow-light. Not surprisingly—he being a Noble—she missed her target, as he had dropped down to one knee to dodge the swipe, then pushed up off the floor to catch the hilt and the blue hand which held it in one gloved palm, and took hold of her throat with the other all in the same eyeblink. Her feet dangled more than a foot above the _tatami_ as Son-Gyoukumo lifted the girl to eyelevel.

His expression was colder than the snowcapped mountains as he attempted to stare her into submission. To no avail. One hand clawing at the digits strangling her trachea, Yama Kaiden glared defiantly at the Noble. Her lips were clamped shut, not even considering crying out for help nor in pain.

Kaiden's glare did not waver, even as she felt her lungs screaming for air whilst black speckles danced across her line of sight. Vision growing bleary, blackness closing in, a single word escaped her air-deprived lips:

"D-d—a—"

Before she could finish, however, Son-Gyoukumo tossed the girl aside, her body rolling in an ungraceful tumult across the _tatami_ to settle just alongside the edge of the window; one hand dangled in open air.

What had Kaiden been trying to say? "Damn you", perhaps. Despite all her politeness, a Noble attacking the defenseless girl not a night after murdering her daughter seemed incentive enough. Maybe "defenseless" wasn't the most appropriate word choice, but this was a grieving mother, nonetheless.

There was no telling, for she was unconscious, little ringlet bruises already materializing on her pale neck. Her breathing was ragged, exhalations a shimmering vapor.

Without, snow continued to fall; it created a silk curtain which rivaled Son-Gyoukumo's own pallor. The flakes made a ballet twirl upon a breeze, four lonesome puffballs coming to rest on Kaiden's limp fingers. They didn't melt.

The world was dark with a Boushitsutengoku night. Light was amplified by the snow, but remained dim, throwing stark shadows on Kaiden's narrow visage. Especially dark were the shadows disguising her eyes and forming black hollows under her cheekbones. She looked like a skeleton, pale and young and weak and aged in the snow-light.

Kaiden did not stir as Son-Gyoukumo straddled her torso, dark hair caressing chin. His breath raised goose bumps on her neck as he moved to brush aside the _yukata_'s collar. Gyoukumo's canines extended, tips glowing red alongside his eyes. This was a vampire, and Kaiden was his prey.

...

Yet another piece to the puzzle.

In the scroll over which the Hunter had pored were the Yama medical records.

According to the records, six years previous, Yama Kaiden had given birth to a sickly baby girl: Meina. Kaiden was only eleven at the time, and quickly grew ill herself. This was what saved the pair from slaving away in the fields alongside everyone else. After two years, Meina recovered. Her mother, however, did not; instead, Kaiden's condition worsened with each passing week. By the time Meina was three, Kaiden was permanently bedridden and deathly pale. Just when all hope seemed lost, Kaiden's husband was very suddenly killed by Son-Gyoukumo. Her condition rapidly improved, and a little less than a month following, she discovered that she was pregnant again. Seven months later, just before her fifteenth birthday, Hakugin was born, premature but healthy. Kaiden never remarried.

More recently—only five days ago, in fact—was an entry stating that Kaiden's father had been murdered by Son-Gyoukumo. He was twenty nine. In her best health in six years, Yama Kaiden was now the new _shichou_. Then, the final entry stating Meina's murder last night.

These records were certainly up to date.

"Well, looks like we got a dhampir on our hands," the voice from before chuckled sadistically. Were one to pay special attention, it became clear that the voice's source was the Hunter's left hand. "But that's not really what concerns you, is it. More like how said dhampir's behaving."

The Hunter was currently traversing the pitch-black underground corridors of the _shichou_ compound. His obsidian cloak swished silently with his equally soundless steps. He ignored the pestering symbiot, face a mask of apathy. This compound was actually quite large, the underground being a labyrinth of intertwining corridors leading off into darkness. He was returning to the main building, however, and gradually ascended various staircases.

Boushitsutengoku was sound asleep. There was no one to impede the Hunter as he finally reached the main floor. The first thing he was faced with was the blizzard outside, so seen through a rather large glass window; a rarity in this godforsaken place. For a minute or so, he stood there watching the snow. As though he were waiting for something.

He stood motionless, midnight garb bleeding into the darkness surround. The Hunter was enveloped in blackness, while, outside, the greenery was enveloped in whiteness. It was silent and beautiful, and the flakes were like little ice pixies twirling on the breeze, dancing a ballet to no music, whispering an elegy to come and play. As the flurries breezed on in wafting swoops, swirling shapes sifting between abstract and hauntingly recognizable, they seemed to form outlines resembling... a woman; shall we call her Setsu-kisaki. Whilst the Hunter was motionless, she could not exist without fluidity and movement, twisting and twining on the wind, swirling echoes in the snow. Her visage was blurred, formed of snowflakes which fell in and out of place as she sifted, but definitively feline, with long, narrow eyes which remained empty with the black night.

Drifting on the breeze, Setsu-kisaki evanesced, reappearing just before the window behind which the Hunter stood. She brushed her crystal fingers against the glass, leaving four six-limbed jewels; they sparkled, despite there being no light in this Boushitsutengoku night. What lamps had been lit were long since extinguished by the cold snap and the onrush of this whiteout. As her hand left the window, Setsu-kisaki disappeared once more. The snowflake woman was only discernable in how the shadows seemed to shift and writhe as she passed through the storm, form returning to semi-visibility just before the _ike_.

Ah, the _kokeniwa_. For an hour, now, snow had danced down upon the land, coating all with a feather dusting. The roof's five foot overhang kept the walls clear and allowed one to compare clear ground with snow-covered: there was already a two inch difference. Within the _niwa_, the _ike_ was frozen over with a thin layer of ice six feet into its interior, probably only a millimeter or two thick. Snow had settled overtop this rime, although less thickly in that the _sansui_ had begun freezing only after the whiteout began; even so, it looked deceptively similar to the solid ground surround. Despite its being late summer, the Japanese maples had already shed their leaves, and now stood naked sans their ethereal dress of crystallized dew and icicles like diamond on a countess. A garden garbed in _koke_ was overrun with white silk, a layer of dragon's treasury escapees. The snow formed a powder-soft blanket of goose down feathers overtop all the _niwa_ that looked like powdered sugar, like millions of crystal balls watching every going-on with icy fervor. So thick was the snowstorm, that the _touba_ was invisible through the screen.

Setsu-kisaki materialized in the ice crystals just alongside the _ike_. Her _mofuku's_ ankle-length _furi_ swung gracefully as she gesticulated something unknown, pointing to the _sansui_'s ice and snow blanket. And then she dematerialized once again.

Still, the Hunter stood stock still. He seemed unsurprised to have encountered the woman. Could it be that he had sensed her when she'd appeared in the _chashitsu_? He hadn't even been fading in that direction, so how could he have known? How could he have seen?

Finally. Movement.

The Hunter turned towards the _ike_, zeroing in on where Setsu-kisaki had indicated. Nothing seemed out of the norm. There was no movement besides that of the falling snow, and the _niwa_ remained deathly quiet.

Or so it appeared to mortal ears.

And so it appeared to mortal eyes.

Safe from the glittery downpour's effects, the Hunter gazed upon the rapidly changing scenery with blank eyes.

One moment, all was still and quiet. The next—a flurry of white fabric—_craack_!—and a resounding splash. The disturbed _sansui_ rocketed up into the air, piercing the stillness with an icy blade as shards of crystal fired randomly all 'round. The freezing droplets were the next thing to bullets in how they sounded upon impact with the surrounding landscape and compound walls; _shoji_ were disintegrated. This sudden onslaught of noise should have woken all within the _shichou_ compound, yet not a soul stirred. None save the Hunter, who still stood stiller than the night, watching as Yama Kaiden's sopping black head burst from beneath the ice to gasp in a desperate breath, fingers clawing at the surrounding ice without finding purchase; the seemingly solid surface shattered at her touch. After a brief moment of struggle, the girl disappeared back beneath the black depths before reappearing with yet another watery spray. Snow melted as it contacted her soaked body, but ice was unafraid, and clung to her hair, her _yukata_, her eyelashes. It had to be a true miracle if she could actually see through the crystal veil. The girl's lips were quite clearly lapis lazuli, the rest of her skin quickly following suit, as she clawed at the merciless ice. Another dip beneath. Next she rose, those frail shoulders were shivering uncontrollably, fingers too numb to feel the ice at which they scratched and clawed.

Anyone else would have been in a panic.

Yet...

Even as she desperately tore at _faux_ land, time and time again failing to find purchase, falling back into the depths of an icy Hell, Kaiden remained calm. Her disposition was one of cool determination, and her countenance portrayed not an ounce of panic. Ever so gradually, Kaiden was making her way to shore. Behind her lay a trail of black through the white. The ice was six feet into the _ike_, and she'd traversed at least five feet in, thus far; it was inevitable when those unfeeling fingers finally found purchase. They dug through the thickening snow, and, though her arms shook terribly throughout, pulled her quaking body inch by inch from the watery depths. She clenched her teeth as the fifteen degree air hit her exposed body; it was truly astounding how rapidly the temperature had dropped since sundown. Kaiden remained unwavering, and somehow found the strength—or perhaps "will" was a better word—to haul herself out of the water and across the snow before collapsing with half her body underneath the overhang.

Only then did the Hunter move to assist.

...

Kaiden would survive; that much was clear.

For having so narrowly escaped a brush with the Nobility, however, the teen was unnaturally calm. She stared up at the ceiling with focused, determined eyes; visage neither empty nor overwhelmed, but contemplative, as though she were pondering over something of import, whilst retaining a professional coolness. Her still air could not complete with that of the Hunter—that was a task which could not be accomplished by even the stillest of the Nobility—yet somehow withheld a similar stoic silence which felt eternal. For one lying immobile beneath a rather impressive mountain of blankets, lips chapped and withholding a lingering tone of blue, hair a disheveled tumble of black and water, Yama Kaiden looked strong. She looked strong and sure and ever so determined. She looked as though not even gale-force winds might shake her; as though this brush with the Nobility, humanity's most feared adversary who ever still caused people to quake in their boots at the very thought of red eyes and pointed ears and fangs, was just another day gone by, a walk in the park, a piece of cake, water under the bridge.

Yama Kaiden, at that moment, looked like everything she shouldn't.

Yet it suited her so completely, so naturally, it was as though any other response would have been debauchery, or that oh so terrifying declaration of "OOC".

For all her lack of physical prowess, Kaiden was the epitome of strong.

And from beneath her formidable pile of blankets, the teen held a conversation with the Hunter just as confidently, if not more so, as that first meeting in the _chashitsu_.

Speaking of the Hunter. We shall now address him as D, and his mysterious talking left hand as Hidarite.

D was currently sitting by the now closed window in the same manner as would any citizen of Boushitsutengoku. For one from Transylvania, this Hunter was astoundingly versatile and well-learned in the customs of this ancient and isolated region; for nowhere else were these mannerisms and so-forth from before the apocalypse—nay! before the Western invasion so meticulously recreated and passed down detail for detail over the past ten millennia. The very concept of Boushitsutengoku's lifestyle was alien to the rest of the globe, and even the nearest village six days ride away. Nothing about this people's way of life should have computed in the mind of an outsider, especially one so bare-necessity-driven as a Vampire Hunter. Yet D took everything in stride as though he had lived here his whole life. Such was the Hunter's fantastic adaptability present in how he sat so casually by the window that Kaiden didn't even consider his actions odd. To continue; there he sat. His midnight cloak was revealed as battered and worn in the firelight, as were his wide-brimmed hat and gloves, neither of which he had yet removed; they looked like a _part_ of the Hunter, as though they belonged nowhere else. Even though D wore modern, distinctly _yofuku_, the ease with which he wore the taxed garb was eerily similar to that of _geisha_ and their art of wearing _kimono_, as he practically disappeared into the woodwork. Which was odd. It was odd that someone so blatantly obtuse would blend into this scenery. This fact most certainly wasn't so in the rest of the world.

Perhaps the difference was that not a single person had gazed upon his beautiful visage in lust or fear or hatred or confusion. True, no one had even yet asked for his name, but this distance was the same as how they treated every outsider that somehow found their way into the forgotten paradise. There was no unkindness. Only a respectful distance. And when he walked Boushitsutengoku's crumbling streets, what stares he did receive were directed as to his _yofuku_, rather than he himself.

As though...as though he were commonplace.

How odd. How very, _very_ odd.

And for all these oddities, D and Kaiden held a perfectly respectable conversation.

"So Hunter-sama has saved me once again."

Well, perhaps the conversation was a bit one-sided, but it was a conversation, nonetheless, as the Hunter replied to Kaiden's comment with silence that spoke volumes in a foreign tongue.

The majority was said in this manner. So much unsaid, as usual.

D had not saved her. He'd sensed Son-Gyoukumo's presence long before the Noble had entered the compound, and had done nothing; he'd been fully aware of Son-Gyoukumo's intentions, and had heard what others could not as Kaiden fought for her life, jumping out the window in a last-ditch effort. He hadn't helped her find the shore through the disorienting icepack of which she'd fallen straight through, nor did he even lift her out of the hypothermic _sansui_. It was only after Kaiden had dragged her shivering body which was shutting down with every second in the snow beneath the overhang four feet off from the _ike_'s shore that he had appeared to carry the poor girl inside, raid the linen closet, and bury her in the blankets she now lay beneath and restart the fire in the hearth.

"I fail to understand Hunter-sama. However, in the end, this is of little consequence. I am eternally thankful to Hunter-sama." Were she not buried, Kaiden would have given a truly reverent _ojigi_. So great was her gratitude.

D gave no reply.

Even so, something was different from their previous two meetings. And even though D still did not reply to her comments or questions, something... something in the air spoke that it was not for the same reasons, whatever those had ever been. While the air was pregnant, just as before, there was a lingering foreboding which whispered of a change in the winds. Of a differed attitude, and a will more open. Something along those lines, anyhow; the youth's mind was an impenetrable fortress, thought process impossible to conceive in the slightest. His reasons for suddenly being open to Kaiden were unknown, but she sensed it, nonetheless. For it was there. For once—oh! for once!

Dare Kaiden ask? Dare she ask that taboo question?

...

Sight was near impossible in the darkness of a Boushitsutengoku night. Were one to dare fulfill a task of even the smallest sort, they had to be proficient enough to do it blind. Else there was no hope, only a waiting game 'til the light of morn.

Confidence was key. Not too much so as to get cocky, and sloppy, resulting. Not too little as to grow too timid to do anything. But right in the middle, the hypocenter of perfection. Especially when in such a situation as Yama Kaiden was then. A situation where a level head was the only proven survival skill.

She lay there, feigning unconsciousness and awaiting her moment. And it had come.

Son-Gyoukumo was quite literally on top of the girl, engorged by the scent of her blood. He wasn't paying any attention, whatsoever, he was so rapt.

It was the time to strike.

Her hand felt disconnected from the rest of her body; it was invisible in the darkness, and the cold had since numbed her fingers. Even so, she sensed the presence of her _katana_. She could smell the cracked leather hilt, taste the metal blade. And even though she could neither see nor feel the blade, and even though it felt as though that arm was not even a part of her body, she knew it was there like it was an extension of the soul. There was no separating a true warrior from their blade. Though Kaiden may not have looked it, she was a warrior. Maybe not a warrior of monsters or evildoing, but of life and principle. She would do anything for the sake of life. The life of her people. The life of her lost child and the child still living.

As Gyoukumo's maw gaped, shaping itself to the shape of her neck, Kaiden tightened her grip on the _katana_. She swung her arm in an arc overhead—_slamming_ the butt of the hilt into his spine with commanding precision. He let out a shocked gasp, eyes rolling back in agony, before collapsing. Kaiden quickly rolled out of the way, he landing in silence atop the _tatami_.

For a long moment, she stared at Son-Gyoukumo's still form in the snow-light. ...Had it always been this light? Kaiden feverishly shook her head, a desperate attempt to shake out such convoluted thoughts.

He wasn't dead. This, she knew.

Yet he could've been. Kaiden had had a perfect shot to behead the Noble—yet she hadn't. She'd simply jammed her hilt into his spine, of which was painful, granted, but nothing near a death-sentence to one of the Nobility. This, she also knew. This, everyone knew. Yet he lived. Why had Kaiden not killed Son-Gyoukumo? The wrath of a mother should have been enough of a will to kill the one who'd murdered her child. Her insurmountable grief at the sight of Meina had been proof enough of her grief, of her hatred and determination. She'd silently pleaded with the Hunter to kill Son-Gyoukumo. And then, the moment she'd had the chance to fulfill her revenge herself, Kaiden had not even considered it. Why?

Son-Gyoukumo stirred. He began to lift himself from the _tatami_ on those fine, gloved hands, black locks hanging in his face. Kaiden watched with an unchanging expression as he turned to face her.

And she then leapt out the open window, white _yukata_ swirling into the snow.

* * *

**A/N**  
雪妃 – Setsu-kisaki – "Snow Queen / Empress". Oh, and the first _kanji_ is the one used to write "snowflake"  
_Touba_ are pagoda; I previously referred to it as a gazebo, for lack of a better word... I feel stupid for that now—I mean, how could I forget the word "pagoda"‽ *disappointed sigh*  
_Mofuku _are insanely formal _kimono_ (i.e. _reisou_) intended for mourning. In the modern day, they are totally black, including accessories, without embellishment; however, they used to be white. Considering that she's made of snow, and previously steam, Setsu-kisaki is obviously following the ancient tradition of white, and its connotations with death (white used to be the Japanese color of mourning)  
_Furi_ are the sleeves below the armhole. In other words, the long part of the sleeve. Far as I can discern, _mofuku_ generally have short sleeves, so Setsu-kisaki's having _furi_ closer to that of a _furisode_ (the most formal _kimono_ for unmarried women) is odd and implies that she's unmarried, very formal, and well-off, so far as being some sort of spirit goes lol  
_Yofuku_ is non-traditional Japanese clothing, of which is called _wafuku_. Is D in a _kimono_? No. Therefore, he's wearing _yofuku_

Please note that Kaiden has suddenly begun addressing D as "Hunter-sama", rather than "Hunter-dono"

Also, I use number patterns a lot. You are already aware of 4 and 7; please also pay attention to 6. 4 is the number of death, 7 of luck; I picture 6 as being the personification of Yama Kaiden, so anything involving the number 6 somehow personifies something about her or her situation

As for the last section. In the beginning, it's so dark, Kaiden can't even see her own hand. Then, it's suddenly bright enough to see Son-Gyoukumo clear as day. One reason behind that is... how would you label that...? Um, well, Kaiden has battled her demon, sort of thing. Another, more...can't remember the word... reason would be that her eyes're actually _open_. And another would be something which shall only later be revealed

Any guesses as to the taboo question?

I am _not_ very proud of this chapter... I've gone through and tried to edit it at least twenty times now, but it's hopeless, so I'm just posting before I delete the thing. Apologies for the poor quality T.T


	6. 薄情の死亡I

**A/N**  
This chapter's so short compared to the others T.T At least I had more fun writing this than ch 5 while pretending to be doing my English homework ^^

Translation 1: 薄情 – Hakujou – Heartless; Unfeeling  
Translation 2: 死亡 – Shibou – Death; Mortality  
I decided on _shibou_ specifically because of the _kanji_. "Shi" is "death; die", and "bou" means "deceased; the late; dying; perish". "Bou" especially has many connotations concerning this chappy  
Full translation: 薄情の死亡Ⅰ – Hakujou no Shibou I – Cruel Death I (this translation being courtesy of GoogleTranslate). I was actually thinking along the lines of "Hakujou's Death / The Death of Hakujou" or something, but "Cruel Death" works just as perfectly—not to mention how much _sense_ that actually makes to be the translation lol  
Oh, and there'll be at least one more part to this chapter, thus the Ⅰ

Hm... FanFiction's having formatting problems with my chapter title! Won't show my JP (IME) Ⅰ for some odd reason, so I actually had to use an EN I -_- Annoying...

* * *

**Requiem for Ether  
**_A paradise in the clouds—Hell in the Heavens_

How... to describe death. How, how, how. Death, death, death. Hm, such an odd word: death. What was it about "death" that instilled such terror in all souls? None ever exactly came back to describe its agonies or anything of the sort; nor did they return to rant of its glory and wonder. Perhaps it was that very mystery which made it so frightful. The very idea that it was impossible to return from, no matter what, and the eternity this instilled. What was on the other side? What was in Death? The fact that none could recall this to others only instilled yet more mystery and wonder. Yet more fear.

To those who lived on the edge, who lived side by side with life and death, Death was a close companion. Yet they, too, feared it. They feared that word to boundless extents, having come into such contact with it so many a time. Why? Shouldn't those so well acquainted be hardened to that fear? If anything, it seemed amplified tenfold. And the inured were more vulnerable than any other.

The fear of death was inescapable to mortals and immortals alike. Was an undead not the personification of this fear? An attempt at escaping it. Yet being so close that they feared it more than any other. This was the cursed fate of the Nobility. Of the vampires. Thus they took out their terror on the mortals, of whom failed to understand _their_ fear of death, even though they feared it, as well. Mindless strife, it was.

None better understood this than those who walked the fine line between.

None better understood than those who bore both mortal and immortal blood.

It was a ponderous thing: death. It was ponderous how entirely enveloping the fear of that word was. How it could drive men mad. Hm. Men and vampire, alike. And what of those betwixt?

...

"Hunter Hakujou." The address burned with hatred and disgust.

As usual. An ordinary address to one of this kind.

"I assume you've a job for me," was the curt response. "That _is_ why I've been called, is it not?" Just not another ambush. Three were enough for one year.

"...Unfortunately, yes." A long pause. "A Noble's moved into yonder abandoned castle. Been killing our people, settin' 'is pets on our livestock. We'll pay you right good. One million dalas." That really was not a feasible number. Five million was usually the low, ten the standard; especially dangerous cases could easily soar above that. One million was outright insulting.

"Alright. Deal."

Of course, Hunter Hakujou was not provided lodging for he or his horse. He was expected to race right off to "yonder abandoned castle" and slay the Noble. Granted, the Noble was a mere fledgling, but nonetheless. Yet Hakujou did not complain. He'd take anything he could get, really. Jobs were scarce for his kind, even as they were so desperately sought for their expertise and beyond-human abilities.

Everything was as it normally was.

This was the life of a dhampir Hunter.

Denied by vampire and human alike, dhampir were forced to walk the thin line betwixt. They could settle with neither Nobility, nor humanity. Were they to serve the Nobility, humanity would cry foul and have the dhampir promptly killed in a hazy wave of flames and stakes. Were they to serve humanity, the Nobility would promptly shun or kill them for their impudence. This possibility of shunning was what led to Hakujou's deciding to become a Vampire Hunter. There was at least a miniscule chance of life; even to dhampir, that fear of death was quite prevalent. By killing one half of their blood, dhampir were even more disliked. It was considered murder by human and vampire, alike. Why? Well, dhampir were half Nobility, yet they killed that half. And, in the eyes of Nobles, they were murdering their own kin. Were a dhampir to kill a human—oh, that was just another act of the Nobility and their foul blood, how dare they disregard what little humanity ran through their veins; yet this was not considered murder. It was Noble. Such an odd double standard. Neither recognized the human blood, unless as a reason to be disgusted. It was like it was impossible for the human side to be what killed, because humans were just ever so pure and noble, themselves.

Hakujou had long since resigned himself to the life of a Vampire Hunter. He'd long since resigned himself to all this entailed with his being a dhampir Vampire Hunter.

Being a dhampir Hunter entailed many things. He would often be called to a job, only to get ambushed by the very people he was supposed to be saving; it'd been a false shpeal so that they could slay the halfling. Far as they were concerned, he was half vampire, despite the fact that his profession specifically dealt with _killing_ said vampires. Those people would never understand, nor did he try to make them. It was quite useless. So, there were the ambushes. Other times, he'd come to town for a job, and then they'd turn him away with pitchforks and torches, screaming that he was just like the monster already terrorizing them and how they didn't need another. And then, _most_ of the time, he'd get the job, occasionally a down payment, kill the Noble, and then return for his pay, only to get chased out, just like the previously listed situation. More often than not, he ended up without getting any money, in other words.

Yet still he lived his life as a Vampire Hunter.

Quite a futile mission, really. He risked his life for the sake of humanity, and they responded with ungratefulness and hatred and terror. And then he went and searched for yet another job.

This was the only life available to a dhampir.

They made the best Vampire Hunters. They knew the Nobility's every secret weakness; they had all their strengths, and—the biggest perk—they could walk in daylight. Granted, they still lusted for blood, couldn't last long in the sun, and held all the physical attributes of the Nobility; but all these extra abilities were what made them such fantastic Hunters, no human could compare, quite frankly. Thus, dhampir Hunters were quite sought after, even if the work was often without pay and fraught with discrimination, betrayal, and the ever lingering possibility of death.

Such was the life of a dhampir Hunter.

There was certainly nothing unusual about this latest job. The mayor was a discriminative ass—although this was so old, Hakujou could really care less, at this point—he was being severely underpaid, and the enemy wasn't even a viable challenge. Grade A Hunter—ha! What a joke. Just following the norm.

The fledgling's castle was insidiously ominous, as was to be expected. Many a century ago, the Noble which had built the structure was slain; for some odd reason, his home remained, albeit in ruins.

There were a great many spires encircling the main compound, each tower topped with a spiked roof of which's tiles were either missing or worn beyond recognition to mere scraps of slate. Turrets extended beneath these frayed roofs; one could almost imagine vats of boiling oil falling from those steeples, although it was far more likely to have been laser beams, considering the foe. The walls of the castle were in shambles, barriers of crumbling stone here and there. Said stone was severely battered, with birds' nests clearly visible in rather frightful cracks which seared through mortar and granite alike like a pyre of blackness. Hakujou absently compared the endless darkness with that of a Boushitsutengoku night, although this castle certainly wasn't anywhere near as grand as Eimin Kasa-danshaku's; not even this ruin's looming shadow could compare with a single gargoyle manning those obsidian and jet walls.

Ah, but what was he doing reminiscing of that old job? He had a new job to do.

Routinely enough, Hunter Hakujou pierced the castle's pathetic excuse for a defense system, his twin double-ended spears parrying every blow by greater dragon and manufactured werewolf alike. The lasers failed to land a single shot, instead burning lines into the already failing supports and causing yet another section of the castle to collapse upon itself in a great plume of dust and crumbling masonry. It wasn't long before he'd reached the very center of the main compound: a once grand ballroom. The intricate, albeit worn, carvings overlaying the fifty foot columns outlining the dance floor spoke of unimaginable wealth and prosperity; the floor, even while dressed in appalling filth, was equally astonishing, portraying a scene within the marble mosaic—a tall man garbed entirely in black fading into encroaching mists as savages cowered in his shadow. Shaking off a foreboding, Hakujou continued forth.

How odd. This job was gradually shifting away from the norm. Even his own train of thought, which tended to be straightforward and unwavering, was drifting.

The obviously ancient and powerful Noble which had once ruled over this land was dead; said Noble had been in ridiculously high favor of the Sacred Ancestor, judging by the sheer size of his stronghold and all the eroding dedications to the Vampire King. A fledgling had taken up habit in this ruin, armed only with meager, low-level creatures—the greater dragons were incredibly pathetic, werewolves poorly manufactured—when the old Noble should have left behind a plethora of protection. And then there were his own dividing thoughts; what was it about this place that so reminded him of Boushitsutengoku?

Perhaps it was how, despite his having been roaming this region for nearly a month, not once had the sun broken through the cloud cover. Perhaps it was the lingering cold. Perhaps it was how the citadel still stood without its Noble lord, much like after he'd killed Eimin-danshaku. And how a youngster had taken up habit within.

There was no telling, at this point.

Guided by naught but shards of diluted moonlight through the clouds, Hakujou's dhampir eyes managed to catch enough light to traverse the debris-strewn ballroom. The pillars surround towered high above, throwing half-shadows ominously; they reminded of gargoyles. Strewn across the ballroom floor were great hunks of black granite, their concave shape alluding to the now nonexistent ceiling once being a massive dome, supported by the same pillars which currently stood like an army of Earth-less Atlases. An eerie sight, foreboding itching, once more. But the eeriest part of this was how the debris created a perfect circle around the mosaic. This would imply that, once; long, long ago; the dome had held a circular window at its center, shining upon the scene sun- and moonlight in a symbolic coalescence. When the ceiling had collapsed, this circle of sanctity remained untouched, protected from the rubble by design—as though the architect had predicted his masterpiece would one day collapse, yet still wished to preserve one of its greatest _tour de force_. And if such effort had gone into protecting _this_ magnum opus, then what of another? Couldn't there be any other masterpiece the grand architect of this convoluted scheme would wish to preserve?

At the other end of the ballroom, of which Hakujou had crossed at this point, was a gaping mouth of blackness. It was carved directly into the mountainside with articulate masonry and letters in a forgotten tongue. From the mouth, a breath came: like an arctic blast, it breathed ice down any intruder's neck, letting out a dragon-hiss as it snaked into the rock's mysterious depths.

Hakujou's bounty lay within, of this there could be no doubt.

Despite the ridiculously high likelihood of this being a trap of some sort, Hunter Hakujou entered the blackness, body melding with the stygian shadows as though greeting an old friend.

...

The life of a Hunter was always a lonesome one. The life of a Vampire Hunter times ten. The life of a dhampir Vampire Hunter infinitely more so.

For most, it was chosen for whatever reason. For dhampir, it was a given, so long as they had the will to live. Or survived to take on the mission.

One thing was shared: death remained a close companion for each.

It was like a precipice. Always on the edge. A Hunter walked the precarious line between life and death, wobbling each and either way with every breeze—a gust sending him right over the edge, plunging into the abyss. An eternal damnation, perhaps, for all the blood spilt. The lucky ones got overthrown into life and full heartedly dedicated themselves to a life outside the Hunt, thanking their graces and whatnot. And ever still were they haunted by Death's lingering kiss, chased by that foul breath on their necks. Never truly free.

It was an indiscriminate Holocaust, ruthlessly slaughtering any who grew too careless, enveloping them in a mysterious embrace from which none ever had nor would return.

Werewolves, werepumas, greater and lesser dragons, vampires, sprites and pixies, behemoths, etc. The profession of a Hunter was wide and fierce with competition. A strict pecking order directed whom got what job within the Hunter classes, Vampire Hunters being the top dogs, quite obviously. All others were scrounging shrews beneath the Vampire Hunters' might, for all others were too weak of body or mind or both to kill one of the Nobility. The Nobility were their preeminent rulers, their unequaled superior. It took an unfaltering strength of mind and a body which could go beyond the abnormal to slay even a meager fledgling vampire. Thus, those of a Vampire Hunting profession were automatically dubbed Grade A Hunters and chose the pickings as they pleased. The only downside to the ridiculous payments and unchallenged might of a Vampire Hunter was the infinitely multiplied risk for death.

Ah, Death. An old friend.

Death lingered everywhere yet nowhere. It was the only certainty in life—that it would end in death. And for those who lived on the edge, even closer to the precipice, it was an ever lingering companion of darkness. There was no escape.

Vampire Hunters were amongst some of the oddest humans. They had to be odd, for nor average person could even _conceive_ taking on one of the Nobility. The very thought would have their knees quaking, their lungs hyperventilating as their mind collapsed upon itself. So great was the terror of Death and the coinciding Nobility.

To those who experienced this fear day in, night out, they never grew inured. Merely... accustomed. Enveloped in its endless embrace. It drove them mad; quietly for some, with a bang for others. It was as sure as death.

And it came just as swiftly.

* * *

**A/N  
**The scene "a tall man garbed entirely in black fading into encroaching mists as savages cowered in his shadow" is a reference to _Dracula_, of which I had the privilege of finishing November 30th (I swore I'd finish before December, and finish I did!). When he first met Jonathon, I recall Dracula specifically ranting about how Turks or something invaded Transylvania, but, oh, he beat them back and so-forth. He was really enthusiastic, and the idea of his defeating them just kinda stuck in my mind... In other words, the scene in the floor is of the Sacred Ancestor, although the reference is most certainly vague; and the fact that this historical reference is to the... 1400s or something along those lines goes to show just how ancient the Noble who once lived in that castle was, as well as his high position in terms of the Sacred Ancestor's favor. Remind me to do more research on Vlad the Impaler... Gotta read _Carmilla_, too...

Considering that Hakujou died four centuries previous this story's setting, this is obviously a flashback. There are many more flashbacks to come, especially from this one character I plan to introduce _very_ soon... I like flashbacks, by the way ^^'

Oh—! And you need not worry, for D shall soon have his time to shine. The back-story is kinda necessary, and _might_ be taking top priority on my list, despite D's preeminent awesomeness  
As for why he's gettin' so little screen time. The main focus of this story is the mystery. D already knows all the answers, as he is wont to do, but this story details his journey to utilizing the answers and solving the puzzle for the reader. It is gradually being revealed how each and every mystery actually revolves around him quite a bit, and you'll start piecing things together as I get further along, hopefully ^^ I put a lot of thought into this lol; details are quite obsessively precise, and I've been dropping them since the very first chapter

As for the... boundless description and drabbling and metaphors and similes and so-forth. This's what happens when I'm inspired lol. Plus, it draws everything out, builds suspense, returns to the dragon theme (of which SPOILER later becomes _very_ important), and allows me to drop yet more details pertaining to the truth of which still shall not be revealed haha. Ah, evilness is bliss...

Still curious as to what you think the "taboo question" is... and I'd be eternally grateful for a review *puppydog eyes*. And for that matter: shout out to Yami-Bastat for being my first reviewer


	7. 天明I

**A/N  
**This chapter gave me a lot of grief... Stupid dialogue XP Sorry for the huge delay

天明 – Tem'mei – Dawn; Daybreak; Temmei Era  
As y'can see, I love to play with words ^^ You should recognize the first kanji: 天; it is a quite purposeful theme, thank you. The second kanji means "bright; light". Then there's the translation of "dawn" and "daybreak", this being the chappy's opening scene (plus worlds of symbolism). And then there's the Temmei Era in and of itself. The Temmei Era lasted between 1781 and 1789, of which correlates to a certain character of whom's past will begin to be elaborated in this chapter set, during which era a volcano erupts and there is a great famine  
Oh, yes, and there will be at least one more chapter on this subject, thus the Ⅰ. Again lol

* * *

**Requiem for Ether  
**_A paradise in the clouds—Hell in the Heavens_

Dawn. A Boushitsutengoku morn, at that. The morrow, as others might yet say.

A Boushitsutengoku night was one fraught with darkness and chilling winds and howls and death. Last eve had been a monochrome dream of snow flurries; dragon's breath had sent a mist to disguise one villain's presence, and then even he was driven out by the blizzard brought on by an overwhelming cold which would have otherwise held no impact upon his deadened soul.

His presence had seemed to crystallize the water vapor—creating deadly flakes which sparkled with beauty and mirth. Alluring. Just like the Nobility.

He was a rose. Hm, most certainly. Son-Gyoukumo was of the Noble class, his skin tone putting Luna to shame, his lips a brighter red than should be appropriate. His beauty was eternal and so inhumanly perfect, were one to stare into those emerald orbs, they'd find themselves caught in a thrall, and ever too happy for it.

Son-Gyoukumo was a materialized Boushitsutengoku night.

What of the morn?

This Boushitsutengoku morn was far different from those preceding.

A feather-dusting blanketed the land. Diamonds hung in glittering veils from conifers and eaves, throwing tangible rainbows across the Haiame-gawa, of which rested with a quartz sleeve and ink dress snaking through the ancient village. The sky had begun veiled, demure against the reigning whiteout, shifts of blackness between whitened puffballs. As the morn approached, the flurries had lessened, coming to a total cessation just as the sun appeared on the horizon, albeit masked behind the clouds. Its light, however diluted, furtively slicked through the vapor to sparkle and refract in a glorious tumult off the ice, off the snow, off the black _sansui_. Overhead, the ceiling was higher than usual, clouds distant and ash-gray. Dragon spires' ice-capped peaks were visible for once, their treasures alight with monochrome-turned-opalescent mirth. Boushitsutengoku had become an iridescent paradise.

With this flutter of glittering delight, one could almost imagine the sun peeking through to dance right alongside _Yuki-Onna_, the pair throwing rays of lively light this way and that, swirling in an updraft of webbed diamond amidst laughter and smiles.

The snow was simply that glorious.

Yet the sun did not peek through the village's ever present light-tyrant. Nor did laughter paint the air.

Amidst the monochrome and superfluous phantasm of color, the village was preternaturally still and quiet. Not a flake or frost-encrusted paper lantern stirred.

This was unusual.

Citizens of Boushitsutengoku were supposed to rise and fall with the sun. They were supposed to wake and get to work the moment the dangers of darkness had retreated into the deeper shadows of the citadel ever hovering in the distance, a hunk of jet and obsidian looming above the juxtaposed alpine forest less than a quarter mile from the edge of town. They were supposed to slave away in the rice fields, rain or sleet, no matter how dark the clouds made the day appear. They were supposed to work for their lives to feed not only themselves but every other living being within the village.

And they did not.

The silence resulting was eerie and oppressive. It pressed down with an iron weight, smothering like the ocean depths in how it blurred the senses and somehow retained a supernatural clarity resulting from its weighted stillness.

Come the blizzard of the previous eve, Noble and villager alike had little choice but to seek shelter. The only being willingly caught in the onslaught of crystal had been Hakugin. Considering the child's name, the concept seemed to feign rationale—however, it was logicality which made it _irr_ational, as well.

As had since been implied, the child was most certainly sired by Son-Gyoukumo. And, considering that there were no female Nobles anywhere near the region, not to mention circumstantial evidence, Yama Kaiden was undoubtedly...

In other words: Hakugin should have been entirely unable to handle the whiteout. She was far too young, and her Noble blood held a strong abhorrence for moving water. Frozen or not, the snow had rained down with such fervor, it was practically liquid. Yet Hakugin had flounced on through, kicking up fantastic clouds of glittering white, spinning 'round and 'round to catch so many six-spire flakes as she could on hands which did not melt them. Her eyes were of a deeper black than that of the Boushitsutengoku night, endlessly unreadable, with a barely visible tint of emerald, reminiscent of the shadow of an evergreen; and they stood in stark contrast to her deathly pallor and blood-red lips. Oh! how she had pranced through the snow with a pixie-like cheer, smile maddened, eyes wide and frosty, movements armed with an inhuman grace.

Such had been the scene painting the _kokeniwa_. And such was the scene now.

Although the sun did not shine through the ever pervasive cloud cover, the sky did in indeed lighten to a less oppressive shade of gray, illuminating shadows, warming the frozen air. Light casts exaggerated shadows when coupled with a lingering darkness, so proven by the malicious fingers grasping at the village edge. It was somehow possessive, maddeningly so. Seemed to send the message _You'll never escape me, try as you might_.

And these shadows and this filtered light reflected off the now frozen _ike_. Reflected the ether above as a mirror would, only the ice was thin and frail, cracks splicing through its pristine clarity to refract the reflection into something no longer pleasant or benign—but menacingly beguiling. It seemed to call out in an enchanting siren, whispering a tune which blanked the mind and wiped rationality. Those cracks slivered across the mirror, distorting the clouds above just as Son-Gyoukumo's shadow had. It was with this menacing distortion that a new image was formed within that icy edifice: a face. This time, it was not that of Setsu-kisaki. Nor was it of Gyoukumo Kousui. No. It was the countenance of this shackled village's true captor. The true menace of the people's dreams, of life itself. It was of one whose very idea sent a shiver down one's spine, glazed one's eyes with death before having ever been taken, stopped breath and heart with but a blink. It was of one who was too great to be spoken of by mere name. Who was so elusive, should one see this face, they would not recognize it for its true identity, only the all-consuming fear induced.

Only the preternatural being gazing upon the scene from the _chashitsu_ window recognized the mirror for the image it revealed. All was still for a long moment as he contemplated how to answer Kaiden's question, let alone give a reply, at all.

"_What was Hunter-sama's childhood like?_" she had asked.

He had not replied. D had simply hidden beneath the shadow of his traveler's hat.

During this seemingly endless pause, Kaiden had since removed herself from the blankets, folding each neatly before replacing them in the closet, and thrown on a _nagajuban_. Strangely, her hands were still blue, but at least some color had returned to paint the girl's lips a deep red. She then settled into _seiza_, as well, facing the silent Hunter 'til the light of dawn graced the ether above and beyond. The sun soon reached its late-summer zenith, the village still deathly quiet, the Hunter equally so. Kaiden fidgeted uncomfortably, her patience finally wearing thin.

She repeated her question. "What was Hunter-sama's childhood like? Was it such as this? We both exist for the same reason, Hunter-sama and I." The sentence was demurely phrased, polite in every way, yet appallingly blunt. It reflected her in the same mannerism as the _ike_—Kaiden, yet not.

Her words seeming to wake him from an enraptured sleep, the Hunter raised his head. No longer masked by unnatural shadow, as it had been every meeting previous, Kaiden gazed upon his preternatural resplendency. D's visage was one of ethereal beauty, an impossible youth marred neither by hardship nor expression; and it was porcelain smooth with a complexion paler than that of the snow limning the _niwa_ without. His lips were a deep red, eyes a steely ice blue which seemed to radiate inexorability, piercing yet withdrawn.

The sight of that face should have rendered the girl as paralyzed with either fear or desire. Kaiden gazed upon the Hunter with neither emotion. She was as blank as he.

"Why is Gyoukumo killing everyone off?" So he was ignoring her previous question. Yet...somehow a tension hung in the air which seemed to twinge, to whisper that D had not strayed from the subject.

"Son-Gyoukumo? He is angry with we of Boushitsutengoku for hiring Hunters to—"

"You're lying."

"..." Kaiden's expression remained void as the pair gazed unblinking at one another. An eternity seemed to pass, although it couldn't have been more than ten seconds. "It appears Hunter-sama is more aware of the situation than originally let on. If Hunter-sama is so omnipotent on this subject, then why save me? Why even allow me to breathe another breath?" The humble Yama Kaiden of but two days previous no longer sat before the Hunter. This personage was of an entirely different—

"That is exactly the question."

...

When the stillness of Boushitsutengoku began to crack, it started with the children.

Children were curious creatures by nature, ever inquisitive as to not only the reality but the unreality. They wanted to know, to understand, and they wanted to have fun doing it. When a child was "broken", this delightful curio ceased to exist, instead replaced by an expression of deadness, of apathy and indifference and an entire lack of awareness as to the world around them. When a child was "broken", they stared ahead with unseeing eyes, not a thought or emotion flashing through their mind. No curiosity. No life, overall. It was the greatest tragedy of which could occur.

This was what made Boushitsutengoku so odd.

The children of this paper town had witnessed a sight which should have been impossible to recover from, even for the most inured human. Child and adult alike should have been in this tragic state. Yet they weren't. So far as could be seen—no one was.

What of that time? When the Hunter had first entered the village, then as the Rider, there had been people screaming, wailing, and raging. Grievous. And there had been an overwhelming number staring blankly at the corpses, unmoving and unseeing, unfeeling, not taking in the situation as they drowned within themselves.

No longer.

However late they might have been, the villagers were coming back to life like a wind-up music box. A twinkling melody of habit lilted through the streets.

Wait, this wasn't right.

The people should have been deadened. Or at least a bit grievous, wrought with low spirits. Granted, they weren't prancing about with ditsy grins painting their faces, but they were not as they should have been.

It started with the children.

Where the parents were, there was no telling. One could only watch as halfling-sized heads poked from doorways, onyx locks swinging; on tiptoes, they crept from their homes, _jikatabi_ silently carrying them overtop the snow bank. They left no footprints. And gradually, one by one, the children of Boushitsutengoku collected on the bank of the Haiame-gawa, gazing into her black waters with indecipherable expressions. A gale swept through the village, whipping the children's _yukata_ maddeningly, even as they themselves remained stiller than death. The snow surround was stirred into a whirlwind of frenzy, swirling into tornadoes which snaked around the younglings. Another gust—! It forewarned those caught in its path with a low-frequency boom, sending bones a-thrumming, ears echoing. It hit like a mountain, knocking several children to the ground. The flurries grew even more desperately tumultuous in their frenzied dance. No longer circling the younglings. Instead ramming into them, a spinning top composed of ice and solid air. Small Lycoris blossoms bloomed in the air, the contrast of red and white such a stun that even the wind slowed to gaze upon it. As the last child collapsed in a heap, Boushitsutengoku returned to peace, the shattering of which could only have been reminded of ever happening... with the children. Children of whom were now buried beneath a sifting dune of snow. A single out-of-place poppy bloomed at the hillock's peak.

This single dune which had before not existed did not stand out.

Overnight, Boushitsutengoku had been draped in crystal tulle. Icicles hung from every eave and _torii_. The whole village was layered with three feet of snow, piled high on rooftops, rolling in sifting dunes through the streets.

Snow has this strange ability to still. Hail causes chaos. Rain causes motion. But snow causes stillness. A stillness which stifles sound, and even though thunder might echo further than it would've otherwise, the sound is so hollow, the fact that it's a boom is unrecognizable. The sound is so captured, so contained. Caged in this crystalline wonderland. This white mirage where a person's every step betrays them, where they sink into the ground and disappear beneath the artificial horizon. Where a haze hovers overtop the snow bank, blurring the reality. Where the light is so bright, a person might go blind.

As the sun began to set behind its vapor veil, movement stirred the village once more.

It was the children's parents, now.

Each family compound was composed of an inner residence where the family slept and lived in; a stone courtyard sat between this house and the outer dwelling which housed the servants, although these secondary structures were generally empty; and both were encased in a ten foot wall of black granite. Through the wall was a full moon gate, barred shut with steel poles fashioned to look like _kuretake_ (black bamboo), leaves and all. These gates swung open in silence to reveal villagers in but their twenties and teens. The parents were children themselves, however these villagers' countenances were marred with a darkness attributed to those of far greater years. And although these people could be considered as little more than forcibly matured children, their suffering was far too blatant to ignore, giving the appearance of ancients, of ghosts. They belonged in these compounds barred with _kuretake_. They belonged in this city of silence, whorl of stillness, ghostly whiteness. Shimmering visages of the dead.

The whole of Boushitsutengoku was shrouded in a snow-mist as the "adults" shuffled their way overtop the snow bank. Granted, they were not as nimble as to leave to no footprints like the children, but the people still crept atop walls and gates, leaping across the treetops. Who were these people who moved like ninja? And why did they all ferry towards the forests, where werewolves roamed?

This was a city of questions. A city of mysteries. The people... made no sense. The sky... made no sense. The situation... made no sense. Nothing made no sense.

It made no sense why a face watched them with such scrutiny. Why the children had collected by the Haiame-gawa, only to die without a single cry or spurt of fear. Why Son-Gyoukumo held such a tight grip over the people, when they quite obviously did not fear him as previously believed. Disgusted, yes. But not feared. They did not fear him taking their daughters. They feared their daughters' return. Her being unchanged. It made no sense.

Or... perhaps it did make sense. Were one to hold all the pieces to the puzzle, that is.

The next gust did not break the silence holding Boushitsutengoku in its icy grip. It only stirred the snow.

* * *

**A/N**  
I hope I didn't confuse anyone with this sentence: "Overhead, the ceiling was higher than usual, clouds distant and ash-gray." The aeronautic terminology was implied as the clouds being the "ceiling"_  
Nagajuban_ is the second layer of _kimono_ underwear  
_Seiza_ is the word I couldn't remember earlier: "D was currently sitting by the now closed window in the same manner as would any citizen of Boushitsutengoku." Just look it up on GoogleImages. Also concerning _seiza_: It can be a form of punishment. Don't believe me? Try sitting like that for hours on end -_- And, technically, women don't sit in _seiza_, at least not like that; but I decided to get rid of at least a bit of the sexism so prevalent in Japanese society. It's the future! _Some_ things have to have changed by now  
_Jikatabi_ are rubber _tabi_. In cities, the rickshaw-pullers wore them; ninjas, too. Look 'em up  
Just type in _torii_ on GoogleImages, and you'll immediately know what I'm talking about. Also, _torii_ are considered spiritual gateways, and there is always a _torii_ at the entrance of a Shinto shrine. They mark the gateway between the sacred and the profane (*cough, cough* _Pilgrimage of the Sacred and the Profane_! *cough, cough*)  
As for this sentence: "Where the light is so bright, a person might go blind." It's called Photokeratitis, and it is a very painful eye injury resulting from too much direct UV rays to the eyes. Snow reflects a lot of light, and the eye funnels light, so... you do the math. It's also called "snow blindness"

And I've recalled something I probably should've explained before. An _ishidoro_ is a stone lantern, by the way, and there are differing styles. The _ishidoro_ in my _kokeniwa_ are of a _yukimi_ style, which means "snow-viewing". The ones noted in my description in... ch 2, I believe, are placed beside _iwajima_. The _ishidoro_ represent temples, and they are lanterns, thus being positions of illumination and enlightenment—_shima_ in a sea of frozen _sansui_ which remains still as death even when not feathered with ice crystals. But the _ishidoro_ are not _on_ the _iwajima_, so as to imply that peace can be found even in the harshest of environments, far from oases. And when one gazes upon _ishidoro_ and _iwajima_ alike, their gaze is brought to the _ariso_ surround, bringing back the idea of _Kusen Hakkai Ishi_. ^^' I'm sorry; I tend to get caught up in the details

Finally posted my concept art for the OC characters of this story on DeviantART. Plus some other stuff. And while my drawing skills are most certainly not the best of the best, I honestly believe they represent what I find myself unable to articulate in words... Here's the link to my DeviantART (remove spaces): _Aldedron. deviantART. com_  
There are 10 VHD pics posted, thus far. And all the _Requiem for Ether_ pictures are placed specifically in a folder in my gallery titled as such

Any guesses as to whose face was in the _ike_? (Psst, it's probably exactly who you think it is ;D) Reviews make me smile!


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